


Oloroc

by dogsjaw



Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Difference, Blood, Bullying, Captivity, Corpses, Corruption, Dark Fantasy, Death, Despair, Dominance, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fear, Human/Vampire Relationship, Lima Syndrome, M/M, Mouth Kink, Napoleonic Wars, Painful Sex, Power Dynamics, Predator/Prey, Prisoner of War, Rape/Non-con Elements, S&M, Soldiers, Stabbing, Stockholm Syndrome, Vampire Sex, Vampires, Wartime, so much blood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:53:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24810382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogsjaw/pseuds/dogsjaw
Summary: I have no idea what I'm doing here help. This is a gory, vile, and highly dubious tale of a vampire who serves under the command of the Red Army, and his hapless human captive from the opposing Blue Army. I'm posting it to AO3 because its remarkable tagging system is the only place I feel comfortable sharing this highly self-indulgent monstrosity.The story is set in a world similar to our own during the Napoleonic wars, except everything is different and also there's supernatural entities such as the titular vampire, though they appear to be somewhat rare. Similarities with real nations from our world are scrambled and intentionally avoided but things are vaguely european in flavour.There are more chapters, I will upload them once I stop picking at them every time I open the file. Title may be changed at some point if I ever think of a real one and not just the title of the .rtf file......
Comments: 30
Kudos: 83





	1. The Field of Bodies

General Lough covered his mouth and nose against the smoke as he approached the battlefield. Or what remained of it. The torchlit line of enemy cannon before him was in disarray; barrels pointed in confused directions and one of them was tipped over entirely; wheels pointing skyward helplessly. Lough's boots squelched through the mud towards red-uniformed soldiers that stood at the cannon line with their muskets to attention, white-faced and waiting for him and the other generals to arrive. A sergeant stepped forward to meet him.

"Good morning sir, um, we have successfully secured the enemy fortification."

Lough looked the sergeant up and down. The infantry had arrived just minutes before the general officers, but he and the rest of the musketmen had clenched jaws and wild eyes like men who had just seen battle.

"Any survivors?"

"N.. not that I can tell, sir."

The sergeant turned to look behind him, clutching his musket, and Lough followed his gaze to the area behind the line.

The night sky directly above was beginning to turn the inky blue before dawn, but beyond what had once been a fortified line of cannon and bayonet the sky seemed washed with a tint of unnatural red. A second line had been drawn behind the barricade, a streak of carnage: At least two hundred limp forms, in blue uniforms stained black with blood, spread over the ground like a sea of dead ants. The ground beneath them was churned into mud, dotted with the smaller detritus of carnage; broken muskets, caps, dropped sabers, incomplete bodies, and the absurdly intact shapes of severed limbs. The whole scene was dimly lit by the crackling light of nearby burning wagons, and the low flames of spilled oil lanterns creeping through the bodies.

At the densest part of this road of horror, some of the dead soldiers had been heaped; a grotesque low mound of dark uniforms with arms and hands and heads and boots sticking out at odd angles, crushed by their own stacked weight. The details were thankfully not too visible this far away, but the strange red pall over the sky was centred here, and clung heavy to the pile of bodies. Atop the distant mound was a hunched, cloaked figure, seated and not moving.

"Right, well then, well done." said Lough with a sigh. "Make sure nobody bothers him until he's calmed down, but let's get this place cleaned up, shall we?"

The sergeant tore his eyes away from the ghastly sight and saluted desperately, glad to stay as far away as possible from the grisly pile and the figure on top.

Lough left the infantrymen and navigated his way through the battlefield towards the figure, trying to pay no heed to the dead soldiers he stepped around. The mud squelched over his boots, soot and blood and other effluence darkening it to a scummy paste the deeper into the carnage he went.

The closer he got to the mound, the stronger the reddening effect became. The air began to stink the hot meaty smell of blood, with a subtle but cloying note of decay to it, and Lough stifled his breath with his sleeve. The red haze wasn't visible itself, but seemed to tint everything like a sourceless light, a shimmer that was more felt than seen. Lough could feel it pricking at him; the essence of predatory carnage, both exciting and terrifying at once. The concepts of _death_ and _blood_ and _excess_ trying to get into his veins.

He had felt that pricking many times though, and refused to let it dominate his nerves. He stepped over one last blue-uniformed corpse and looked up at the figure seated atop the pile. The vampire they called the Warbird, looking out at nothing; one saber across his knees and the other stabbed into the body he was seated on. His hands rested and dangled loosely over the sword in his lap, heedless of the sharp edge, and his deep orange eyes were heavy-lidded and tranquil, focused on nothing. The sharp feathers of his collared cloak- his namesake- wreathed his jaw and the rest of the cloak flowed down over the stacked bodies behind him like a liquid. The red miasma was thick around him, like a heat haze, and the edges of the cloak flickered.

"Oloroc." Lough called up to him.

For the first time the vampire seemed to notice he was there. He turned his head and blinked slowly, a smile slipping onto his bearded face as his amber eyes locked onto Lough's.

"General."

Lough gestured to the carnage around him briefly. "As always, a nigh excessive level of competence, well done."

The vampire grinned, long ivory teeth catching the light. There was not a speck or stain on him, not of blood at least. Yet there was a wetness to his mouth, an undefinable glisten on his lips and the black hairs of his beard, and a number of thin rivulets of blood were trickling down from the tips of his cloak, over dead faces and limbs. As Lough watched, a dark drop fell from his unstained elbow, and another from his thigh. The vampire was absolutely saturated.

"You are pleased, general?" he asked, with another slow blink. He looked almost drunk, but there was taunting in his words.

Lough sighed, sensing the jibe. "Yes, I am pleased."

The vampire chuckled and stood, taking up the saber from across his knees and pulling the other one out with a meaty noise. He lifted them up, turned the points to his hips, and sheathed them carefully into the scabbards on each hip with a dual clack.

"The generals will be holding council quite soon." continued Lough. "As soon as we can do something about this.." he gestured around. "...mess and erect the war tent. You will be in attendance, so you should make sure you've quite calmed yourself down. I won't see a repeat of that unacceptable behaviour with General Willard."

The vampire met Lough's sharp gaze with his own languid one as he stepped down heavily from corpse to corpse.

"Willard is a weakling, and he knows I know it. But be assured I am... _extremely_ calm." he closed his eyes and inhaled the bloodied stink of the carnage around him, rolling his shoulders as his cloak settled comfortably.

Indeed it did seem that, for once, the beast was sated. Often when Lough went to meet him after a battle he was still clutching his swords, with eyes that made one think he was ready to sink his teeth into any uniform, whether red or blue. But with enough dead, with enough blood poured into his monstrous appetite, the Warbird could become almost docile, for a time.

"Very good. Then I will see y-" Lough was interrupted by the vampire's hand. He held it up abruptly as he looked out across the battlefield, gaze much more alert.

"What?"

"Hah.. I think I've missed one."

Without any further comment he quickly stepped up onto the fallen body of a soldier and LEAPT, the dead soldier's arms moving as the body rolled away from the force. Lough stepped smartly out of the way.

\----

He hadn't hid, at first. Something (the stray butt of a musket?) had struck him on the head and knocked him out for he had no idea how long. When he'd come to, he'd found himself underneath something heavy and wet and cold, pressing him into the mud. Half his face had been buried but he simply hadn't been able to raise it. Some nameless dread had kept him pinned, some abject primal fear that if he'd lifted his head, if he'd moved, something would _get_ him.

There'd been screams, the sound of battle. There'd been the quiet sounds of things lifted and thrown, maybe into a pile. There'd been silence. All he'd seen with his face half in the mud was a strangely reddish sky. Eventually though, after the silence had fallen, he'd dared to lift his face. What he'd seen was a pile of his fellow soldiers. Dead. Dead bodies of men. And atop it... a man with long black hair and a dark red cloak, who'd radiated that feeling of terror so strongly that he'd immediately averted his eyes, frightened that even looking might attract his attention.

Now he continued to lie under what he was certain was the body of a soldier much heavier than he was, while his mind raced in cold panic. The only thing he could think to do for now was to stay as still as possible, but the part of his mind that was clinging to rational thought said that he'd be discovered eventually, that he'd have to think of something else. But what?

Things had simply happened so fast. He had seen a little action before, but it had always been from behind the safety of a cannon, a wall and a rifle. The enemy had been far away and easily repelled, their fortifications strong. War had seemed almost easy, exactly as they'd said it would be. Defending the honour of your country and then returning home for glory. But this night... this night had started calm and then descended into a hell he could never have imagined.

It had taken them too long to realise they were being attacked, too long to realise it was by only one man, and far too long to realise they couldn't kill that man. That... thing. By the end of it they'd tried to turn the cannons on him, but cannon wheels stick in mud and don't turn easily. He'd drawn them out to the line and then leaped over the barricades and slaughtered them all, moving rapidly and unpredictably from soldier to soldier; stabbing, chopping, biting. Some had tried to run but the fortified walls were not made to be climbed quickly.

That same man was seated now on a pile of the dead, close enough for him to have seen the burning orange of his eyes when he'd looked up. What if the monster had already noticed him? What if he was just toying with him, waiting for him to make a mistake and show himself?

The wretched body atop him and the mud seeping into his clothes were both cold, but he felt far too hot. He could feel himself sweating, alternately feeling both overheated and chilled as his crushed legs cramped and his hot breath puffed against his face. He could feel his belt buckle beginning to dig painfully into his belly, but there was nothing he could do about it.

In the midst of trying to ignore these discomforts, he suddenly realised he could hear voices. His heart flickered for a second with the insane hope that some of his legion had survived, that an officer was coming to rescue him. But even starving for hope, the logic within him knew that idea was ridiculous.

Very, very slowly, he lifted his head from the mud once more. His heart immediately beat faster as he saw the cloaked man again, but this time the monster was looking away, at another man. This man was older, shorter, with silvery grey hair, and wore the uniform of the red army. Looking at him was not frightening at all, though touches of brocade and gold and the hilt of a fine sword at his waist implied he was probably a general officer.

One of his ears was covered with mud, but even without it they were speaking too softly for him to make out what they were saying. He'd heard the stories; that the red army commanded a demon, a blood-drinking vampire, and how such an evil alliance was proof of their barbarism. If this man commanded the terrible cloaked figure then perhaps, just perhaps, he would leave with him.

The vampire stood from his grisly throne, taking up his swords, and started stepping down the bodies. Fear made him want to look away, but a strange fascination kept him transfixed. There was a terrible majesty to the monster: the otherworldly red light around him was like some infernal twist on the angelic rapture of viewing the stained glass windows of a church. The way he moved was predatory and sure, like a wolf on his mountain, or an eagle returning to a falconer's glove.

He was watching him converse with the officer when something terrible happened. His legs, crushed and cramping for what felt like forever, twitched roughly. The leg of the soldier above him slid between them, hitting the ground with a damp smack.

He froze completely, not even daring to breathe.

Over by the corpse pile, the vampire held up his hand to silence the officer. Despite his best efforts, this acknowledgement of the sound he'd made caused a gasping whimper to escape his tight throat.

The vampire turned towards him, and leaped.

He croaked a thin shout of fear and tried to push the body off him and run. All he saw was a flash of the black-haired man pouncing through the air in an absurd arc, his cloak open like great dark wings, before he was upon him.

Mud splattered as the monster landed, skidding but grabbing and throwing the dead solder aside as he did so. He tried to stand and flee but the vampire's other hand reached back and snatched his upper arm. He yelled in pain as steely claws pierced through the thick fabric of his uniform.

This was it. He hadn't survived. He stopped resisting and let himself be pulled back. Round orange eyes moved in front of his face. Luminous. Terrifying. He felt like a mouse before an owl. His already numb legs gave way but the cloaked man lifted him up by the front of his uniform before his knees touched the ground. Nothing but that hot red miasma of blood around him now, a coppery reek of flesh and death. That fear from before was multiplied by a thousand but in a way that raced through his veins, making his heart beat faster than seemed possible.

His eyes transfixed on four long points of glistening white before him as the vampire smiled.

\----

Lough stomped tiredly over to where Oloroc had leaped, and where he was now holding the blue army soldier up by his uniform.

"Oh dear, what have you found now."

He gave the survivor a critical eye. Half his face was covered in mud, but he seemed like a young man, as most of the infantry usually were. Short dark hair, pale skin, no muscle to speak of, nondescript greyish eye colour. He was staring wide-eyed at the vampire's face, clearly in the grip of the terror and infatuation of the battle haze. Lough could feel it pricking at him again too, now that Oloroc was closer.

"Look... look he's just a puppy!" said the vampire, turning the soldier a little to show the general.

The soldier actually managed to tear his eyes away, and fix his gaze with Lough's. Lough gave him no response. It was probably not apparent to the young blue, but Oloroc was still mellow and blood drunk, and was more playful than bloodthirsty at this point. As with everything the beast did though, that playfulness easily became unsavoury, and Lough had a suspicion that was where this was heading. "Hmph." he grunted.

Oloroc meanwhile had leaned closer to the boy and was wiping the mud away from his face, the soldier's eyes once more fearfully looking into his. "How did I miss you, eh?" the vampire purred in his thick basso voice. The touch of his hands, still steeped in the blood of two hundred men, left red smears in place of the mud as he wiped.

Oloroc tsked, and, taking the back of the enemy soldier's head in his hand, ran his tongue up his face. The young man stiffened and closed his eyes as the vampire's pointed scarlet tongue ran over his mouth, his cheek, his eye, swiping up the smears of blood and mud along with it.

Oloroc stepped back and the soldier stood on his own, eyes still closed and breathing heavy, but quiet.

"Look at him. He thinks he's already dead."

Lough cleared his throat.

"Well if you're going to be keeping yourself entertained I have absolutely no wish to get in your way. I do remind you however that you're expected in council shortly."

The Warbird looked aside and flicked his hand at nothing, snorting slightly.

Lough took this as some form of acquiescence, and took his leave, picking his way through the bodies towards where several horses and a cart had just arrived to meet him, all in red. The last he saw of Oloroc, he had his hands on the young man's shoulders, and was leaning down to whisper something in his ear.

\----

_"Follow my commands, and live a little longer. Who you were lies here with the rest."_

The words still echoed in his mind as he followed the cloaked man across the battlefield, the heavy whisper repeating as though the vampire were still saying it over and over. He didn't know exactly what that second part meant, but it filled him with hollow dread. The voice itself, that almost growl that could barely be called a human voice, had struck him with the overwhelming urge to _obey_. The part of him that still looked carefully at these things, despite everything, felt there was something unnatural about that. The moment the vampire's tongue had touched his face he'd been ready to die, had fully accepted his fate, but until those words had breathed against his ear the thought of _obeying_ hadn't crossed his mind.

Ahead, the monster himself proceeded at a leisurely pace across the stricken battlefield. Every time he stepped over the body of one of the fallen, the cloak trailed over the corpse almost sensuously. He could see now that the edges of that cloak flickered strangely. The cloth was torn and tattered but the tatters seemed inconsistent, prone to licking up by themselves like little flames. The redness in the air was diminishing but following them, a focus point of the battlefield that moved with them. The vampire was also dripping as he walked: drops that once belonged to the men below now returning to the wrong owners, but he himself was unmarked by bloodstains.

Minutes passed. Fear still shook his bones as he walked behind, but there was an inviting numbness to this new acceptance he'd found. He was living on extra time; everything that happened now was out of his hands, an act of nature he was helpless to prevent.

For a moment he felt like that might have been what the words meant, and he hugged his arms tighter and shivered, both against the cold and the crawling despair he could feel trying to well its way up inside him. His legion had been obliterated. The life he knew was undoubtedly forever beyond his reach. He was indeed, already dead.

Soon they reached the edges of the fortification, away from the field of bodies. He felt deeply grateful that he no longer had to avert his eyes from the slack-jawed, pale faces of his dead comrades. Instead, living, red-uniformed faces were turned their way; men carrying wooden stakes and horse feed, or moving in step with muskets on their shoulders. Mainly they looked towards the vampire, scattering out of his path with fearful expressions and an expletive or two, but a few confused eyes found their way to him, taking in the enemy uniform.

The cloaked back in front of him stopped at a large tent beside which the flag of the red army hung, flopping listlessly in the low wind before dawn. Torches sputtered to either side, looking freshly lit.

"Stay." came the vampire's deep voice, and before he could react a heavy hand swept behind his back and pressed him forward. Not into the tent, but beside it, so that he almost stumbled into a cluster of barrels.

He turned, shivering, to catch just the gleam of an orange eye looking at him before the vampire pushed aside the flap of the tent and entered, the flap swishing closed behind him. Where his hand had touched the pale canvas there was a smeared crimson handprint, from which two streaks of blood slowly trickled down and bloomed into the cloth.

When the monster vanished into the tent, the fierce buzzing in his blood abruptly diminished. He gasped shakily, and sat down hard, back against a barrel. The air was still a little strange, but for the first time in what felt like hours he could breathe and think clearly. He heaved a breath and felt the urge to start sobbing well up within him. He bit his knuckle to stop it, huddling his legs close to his chest.

He glanced up and around, taking in his surroundings while blinking rapidly to clear the blurring in his eyes. He was in the absolute centre of the enemy takeover; around him other tents were being rapidly assembled, and he could hear the distant sounds of shouted orders, hoofbeats, and cart wheels. Many red soldiers walked past him, some of them looking at him with surprise, contempt, or animosity. Hostile animosity, but compared to the creature he'd just walked the field of dead with, their murderous glares felt weak.

The sounds of the growing encampment were muffled from one direction, and he realised he still had one ear full of mud. He scooped it out with his finger best he could, wincing at the pain in his left upper arm. He hadn't even felt it during the walk, but now that he poked at it there were definitely at least four small wounds there, from when the vampire had grabbed him. Surely he must have imagined that hand covered in a clawed iron gauntlet, because the vampire's hands had definitely been bare afterwards. Braced and gloved, with the fingers free, but no gauntlets.

Streaks of blood had stuck his coat and shirt to his arm, and he winced as he began to pull them away to examine the injured flesh beneath.

\-----

The war council had only been in session for ten minutes and Oloroc had already stopped listening. A tent full of uniforms and hot air, all on their little wooden folding seats on different levels so they could all make sure everyone got a good view of their blustering faces. He flicked his eyes from face to face, wondering who had slept. At least three looked well rested. Tucked into their cots while he devoured their enemies.

Lough had been silent so far, listening to the debate with a weary but neutral expression. Oloroc wasn't even sure what they were discussing. The next course of action? Mostly it seemed to be about how much of a victory this victory was. A great victory, or just a tactical advantage? A crippling blow for their enemy, or just an acceptable loss? The pleasurable vertigo of blood saturation made all of it a blur. His thoughts kept turning to the boy waiting outside. That soft flesh... that weakness stumbling through the battlefield like a deer lost among wolves... It was poetry, and prey, and the thought of ravishing that flesh with his own added its own spice to the already intoxicating blood rapture of battle. He had been hard since the peak of the fight, but now the dizzy euphoria made the arousal almost sentimental.

He pulled himself to focus as he heard his name: "...-from the Warbird. You've eliminated the entire legion? Absolutely certain there's no survivors?"

Colonel Vatch was looking at him, leaning forward on his seat with a concerned expression. Vatch was plump, liked his food. A pessimist and a worrier but otherwise one of the less contemptible officers.

From his position standing by the entrance to the tent, Oloroc sighed and cracked his neck.

"One. I've kept him for myself."

Predictably, this elicited a chorus of scoffs and protests from around him.

"And what if that one escapes? We'll lose the EXACT advantage we have just been discussing!" General Masgate this time; tall and skinny, with huge wispy muttonchops. The proximity of his chair to Oloroc and the haze that still crawled over the vampire's surroundings was making him wild-eyed and sweaty. Masgate was one of the generals who had attained their positions through the nobility of their blood and the depth of their pockets. Oloroc despised them in particular.

He turned to look at him with lazy eyes, granting him a smile. For his own amusement, he pictured the face the general would make if he sank his teeth into his throat. Eyes goggling. Coughs of blood choking through those plump aristocratic lips...

At the centre of the assembly, General Lough cleared his throat.

"Gentlemen, I'm sure we are all aware how unlikely it is that the Warbird would ever let something, once acquired, escape him. We've all seen this before: Quite likely this is a problem that will be resolved within 24 hours or less."

Masgate was looking satisfactorily uncomfortable, so Oloroc turned his attention to Lough and chuckled darkly. Quite likely indeed. He was still blood drunk; the deeply satisfying sensation of for once being _sated_ made his desire for blood bizarrely absent. But it always returned.

There were disgruntled but acceding murmurings from the assembled staff officers, and a few well-dressed posteriors shifted in chairs.

"Very well! An acceptable point, we shall see. Any incident will be his responsibility, after all." said General Masgate in slightly too high a voice, raising his hands and pointedly turning away from Oloroc.

Oloroc didn't even look at him. His gaze had drifted away from Lough and he was once again lost in sweet vertigo. A drop of blood hung from his bearded chin and fell to the mat-covered floor with a faint splat. The council droned on without him, as once more his thoughts turned to the pale boy in the field of bodies. Soon. Soon this belabouring council would end. Patience.

\-----

The torches outside the tent did little to warm his damp body, and he was shivering. He missed his greatcoat terribly. Enough time had passed that he'd begun to lose that comforting numbness of acceptance in his mind, and some of the desperation of survival had crept back in. Was he just going to wait to be picked up on the vampire's return like a pet dog? But what else could he do? He'd successfully cleared out his ear and found a reasonably clean kerchief in his pocket to tie around the wounds on his arm, under his clothes, but nothing changed the fact that he was still in the heart of a growing enemy camp. Quite literally next to what he assumed was the flag officer's tent. Anywhere he could go from here was a forest of bayonets, bullets, and unfriendly foreigners through which he would almost certainly not escape.

In fact, a small group of enemy soldiers had gathered near one of the tents opposite him. They were leaning by a cart and exchanging comments and crude laughter in a way that was absolutely directed at him; they hadn't stopped looking his way for the past few minutes, like a pack of wild dogs sizing up a wounded animal.

He watched them too, figuring he had nothing to lose by keeping an eye on them. Their boots were muddy and they looked like they needed sleep, hair under their caps tousled and unkempt like they'd been on duty for many hours. Dawn was staining the east grey and blue now, the stars above fading. Wait... Didn't vampires burn in the light of the sun?

As he was distractedly running his hands through his muddy hair, analysing this new and possibly crucial thought, he failed to notice the knot of soldiers begin to walk in his direction.

"What are you sitting down here for, 'ey? Blue?"

He looked up to see the leader of the small group, a well-built young man his own age with tightly cut ginger hair, striding towards him. He got to his feet rapidly, backing against the barrels.

"That's better, come on, stand up. Aren't you supposed to be attacking us?"

The red-haired man stopped uncomfortably close, while his three comrades fanned out behind him. The barrels behind were not that high; he could certainly clamber over them, but a glance beyond showed only more carts and more men in red.

"What, going to run away? That's what the blues always do, isn't it?" a chorus of laughter from him and his friends, looking at each other assuredly.

"Come on! In the middle of our camp, aren't you? You want to start killing people, now's your CHANCE!" with that last word the red suddenly moved in and slammed a fist into his stomach.

The air was knocked right out of him with a wheeze, and he bent over and then fell backwards. He cracked his elbow on the barrels before sliding down to one knee, sucking his breath back through the dizzying pain.

Raucous laughter from the group of soldiers, and one of them spat at him.

He held up his hands, shakily, trying to show surrender.

"Please I d-" his voice caught and he coughed. The last time he'd used it had been a scream. "I don't want to be here."

"Krissler didn't want to die either, you bastard." came the venomous voice of one of the other soldiers behind. Red-uniformed hands grasped the front of his muddy coat and pulled him to his feet, as the red-haired man leered in his face.

"Not that tough at all, are you blue?"

The man flung him away, knocking him against the barrels again. A weird sort of madness glazed over the soldier's eyes, making them wild as he lifted his fists.

"I'll beat you to a pulp!" he snarled, teeth bared.

Backed against the barrels, he felt genuine fear grip his spine, tingling through his hair and skin. It was terror, but he also felt like he could fight these men, a desperate strike between life and death. They all sneered at him, violence in their eyes. The deadly atmosphere was oddly sudden. And, he abruptly realised, familiar.

Framed by the torches, a dark shape loomed behind the red-haired man and a heavy hand clapped on the back of his neck. He was lifted by the scruff of his uniform, and unceremoniously dropped face down in the dirt with a muffled yelp.

"You're in my way." came a growl. The vampire had returned.

Orange eyes flicked from soldier to soldier as the cloaked man watched them pull their leader to his feet and scramble to leave, one of them managing a flustered string of curses before the whole group fled in a thudding of boots.

The vampire's eyes fixed on his, and he flinched. With his return the miasma of fear was back again, that odd redness to the air without there being any discernible substance to it, the suggestion of _blood_.

"All that anger just for you, pup. How special you must be, hm?"

He shook his head vehemently as he stood clutching his aching stomach, and the vampire tilted his head back and laughed, his long teeth catching the light.

Behind him, some of what looked like officers were exiting the tent, a few glancing his direction but most striding smartly away or engaged in knots of conversation as they left.

"Come." said the vampire, extending his hand. "Now I have time for you."

A chill went through his body, and his heart beat faster. He didn't know or want to know what that meant. But either some part of him wanted to find out, or he was compelled by the haze and the madness, because he dimly obeyed, stepping forward.

As he did the vampire reached forward and grasped his head, pulling it against his chest as the rest of his body stumbled to follow. The other arm gripped tight around his middle in an embrace, and the vampire's face was suddenly bent next to his. Lank, wavy black hair brushed by his cheek as the vampire inhaled deeply up his neck, the stink of blood and leather and metal close and rank, the feathers of the collar tickling him. He squeezed his eyes closed, heart pounding in his ears, and the embrace... suddenly released.

He lurched and pulled away. His breathing was heavy and his heart pounded _death! death! death!_ as his gaze transfixed on the monster. He had expected those teeth in his neck, tearing into him, that anticipated finality of blood and agony. But nothing had come. "So strange..." said the vampire thoughtfully, as he watched him stagger back. 

"Saw your death again, didn't you pup? But I've had SUCH blood today. How novel it is, to be without thirst."

The vampire swept forward and put an arm around his tensed shoulders, the cloak coming with it so that it was like being enfolded in a heavy wing. He did not resist. His shoulder pressed against the vampire's side as he was pulled into walking with him. He could feel a slow wet seep of blood into his uniform where they touched.

"They called you blue... Seems fitting, you left your name behind. You are now my Blue."

Images of the field of dead faces once again flashed through his mind. _Who you were lies here with the rest._

Would even his name be taken from him now? Despair again crept through the complex brew of feelings within, following on the footsteps of the fear that still scratched at him. The vampire's hand caressed his shoulder as they walked, unwittingly or perhaps deliberately making the puncture wounds beneath his coat sting.

They passed through the encampment, attracting a few passing eyes that hastily moved away. Everyone felt the monster's dreadfulness, it seemed, even those on his own side. Eventually they reached tents that he recognised as being from his own army, though now they stood conquered by an army of a different colour. It was a little difficult to keep up with the taller man's stride; the arm around his shoulders made their movements too close. The cloak was the first thing in hours that was keeping him warm, but the press of leather and fastenings and sword hilt and the wet sensation of blood against him was constant. He felt completely out of his own control. Every time he stumbled or moved away a little the arm around his shoulders gripped tight and pressed him forward, correcting his path irresistibly. It was like being transported in the jaws of a beast of prey; securely but inescapably.

At some point, he found they were walking directly towards the side of a cart. Confused, he tried to stop short but found himself pushed forward. He stumbled and his elbows struck wood planks, and he twisted around to find the vampire in his face, reaching up under his arms, pressing his back against the wood. He clenched his jaw sharply, and froze.

"Ah that wicked sky..." said the monster, as he leaned down, his coppery breath against his face. "So bright so soon."

A quick panicked glance above revealed that indeed, the sun would soon be showing its face. What did that mean for the vampire?

He inhaled shakily as he felt a hand move under his coat and up his back, the other reaching smoothly down over one buttock. The vampire's tongue ran up his neck and he shivered as icy pins and needles raced through him. He felt his face grow hot. He had considered that this could be his fate, a small thought to the possibility that the beast's desires for him might not just be for blood, but the reality of it was still a shock. He closed his eyes and turned his head, as the other man pressed closer, using thigh and chest to pin him between heavy body and hard wooden planks.

"Look at me." came that deep voice, and a touch to turn his chin.

He opened his eyes to the piercing orange gaze in front of him. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Those eyes were a beast's eyes, and they tripped something deep and primal inside him that knew that image as danger. A smile broke through the bearded face, the long fangs flashing. The amber eyes glanced down and the vampire bent and ran his tongue softly across his lips. The sensation was like a kiss but somehow more dominating, more animal, like being marked as food. The taste of blood came seeping in through his tightly closed mouth, and the vampire's wet tongue was not warm.

He closed his eyes again and bit his cheek. He wanted to beg the monster not to hurt him, but that would be foolish. Living on borrowed time, he felt he could bear anything else right now, but that primal gaze had once again ignited his desire to survive, to live through this madness somehow.

He made a soft grunt as the vampire pushed his hips against him once, making the cart rock slightly. The monster was still running his hands over his body, one of them moving over his chest beneath his uniform and the other caressing down and around his leg, as though exploring the shape of him.

The hand on his leg slid up to the crotch of his breeches, and he gritted his teeth. The closeness of their two bodies, the pressure against him and the knowledge of his circumstance was affecting him despite himself. He could feel the stroking touch pulse through him, a flutter that to his shame made a dull ache in his loins awaken further. A low chuckle came from the other man and the touch turned into a cupping squeeze. He gasped and without thinking reached up and gripped the cloak at the vampire's shoulder, while those orange eyes looked into his and laughed.

"Is it the _fear?_ Is it the _murder?_ " the vampire purred.

He said nothing, just dropped his head shamefully as he breathed hard, almost resting his brow against the vampire's shoulder. The pressure felt like cool fire, igniting a dizziness of passion he couldn't fathom. Foggily, he wondered if this was part of the effect the vampire seemed to carry with him, the one that had disappeared when he'd entered the officer's tent and reappeared to madden the soldiers. He'd certainly felt elements in it that were similar to lust, but all mixed with that blend of rage and terror its presence created. A whimper escaped him as he backed harder against the cart, but he managed to pull himself together enough to let go of the cloak and shake his head. He wasn't even sure what he was denying; the question, or the idea that the fear and the murder of the beast could be part of the problem.

The vampire tilted his head and smiled in a way that said he didn't quite believe that denial, and stepped back, letting go. With distance between him and the monster again, he moved hastily away from the side of the cart, tugging his uniform down and breathing hard. The vampire leaned one hand against the cart and began to unfasten the front of his trousers and belt with the other.

"You've said not one word to me." he remarked, curiously. "Can you use your mouth for other things?"

He felt a wash of embarrassment and almost indignation as he understood what was being implied. He'd joked around a little with his fellow soldiers before but he'd never done... that. And certainly not, as he glanced around and now realised, out in the open. They were in a quiet area of the camp but they were not private, just out on the cart-scarred grass between mildewed tents: This monstrous man apparently cared little if he was seen no matter what the situation.

His hesitation must have shown, because the vampire's smile dropped and he beckoned curtly.

A red jolt of fear spurred him, and he drew close again. Hesitantly, he knelt one knee into the muddy grass as the other man pulled his belt and the top of his breeches open with a thumb, the leaves of armour on his thighs jingling aside. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but the penis that bobbed into view seemed... normal. Skin that looked pale in the low dawn light but still flushed with pink, a shadow of black hair behind, a cock tip that glistened as it peeked through the skin around it. He glanced up and saw orange eyes looking down at him, waiting.

Uncertainty and embarrassment washed through him as he leant forward, stretching his tongue out to touch the tip. The feeling was slick and fleshy, almost a kiss. It tasted... it tasted of blood. He drew away and put a hand over his mouth. A deep chuckle came, and a hand gripped the back of his head; not pulling, but fingernails pricking his scalp. He glanced up at those beast eyes again.

"You're not a child. Earn your life, Blue."

He was right. This was no time for squeamishness or embarrassment; he was the sole survivor of a massacre of two hundred men, and the way things stood now he could join them with noble but pointless resistance or ride the flow of fate that was keeping him alive. Like the red haze around both of them whispered; life meant existing one moment to the next, it demanded action in the now.

He leaned up and ran his tongue over the tip of the vampire's cock again. The coppery taste flooded his mouth but he tried to ignore it, pressing his lips to the tense flesh. He reached up and held the shaft steady, feeling a slow pulse beneath the skin, and pulled the creaking belt and breeches aside with his other hand. He ran his tongue along the side of the cock, exposing more of the shining head. The grip behind his head softened and the vampire let out a slow, heavy exhale. This close, he could smell the leather of the other man's attire near his face, the steel and dirt and linen and the overwhelming metallic scent of blood, but no sweat. The monster's body, he realised, didn't carry heat like it should either, and the flesh in his mouth was warmed by his breath like an inanimate object.

The hand behind his head stroked his hair as he continued to lick, caress with his lips, and pop the end of the cock in his mouth. The bloody taste didn't stop, and made him salivate heavily, specks of drool falling to the grass from his chin and lips. He was committed, focused on his task, but in truth, he had no idea what he was doing. He'd been with a girl before but never very intimately, and he'd never felt a mouth nor a tongue on his own penis. There was also the still-needy pressure between his legs, which he was trying very hard to ignore but which had already brought one or two hushed sounds to his lips before he could stop them, the imagery of his own situation too powerful.

A few more moments of this, and there came a sigh from above. As he was caressing the cock tip with his mouth, the stroking hand behind him suddenly gripped his short hair. Without warning his head was squeezed forward, the slick shaft jamming into his mouth, opening his lips and jaw. He strained away and retched a little at the intrusion, hands automatically trying to pull it away, eyes squinted shut. The pressure behind his head released and he lurched back, hitting his butt on the ground and panting. The vampire, still leaning one hand against the cart, looked down at him and shook his head.

"Use your hands then. Like you do on yourself."

Shaking a little, he got to his feet again. He happened to glance at his hands as he did so: the one that had been holding the other man's cock was smeared with red. He started as abruptly the vampire snatched the side of his collar and pulled him forward into him, himself leaning back against the wooden planks of the cart with a rattling thud. The dark blue light above them was rising now to pink, flecks of gold catching the clouds.

"Don't be slow."

Pressed close, body-to-body once again, he reached down and gripped the other man's cock. It was quite easy to imagine it was his own; it was nearly in the same place now. Gripping the tense flesh in his hand he started stroking back and forth, feeling the slick wetness of his own drool all over it. He was face to face with the vampire, his leaning position making them almost the same height. Black hair brushed his face as amber eyes stared into his own. He found his own breath quickening as he moved his hand in a familiar motion, stroking and squeezing.

The vampire let go of his collar and gripped the back of his hair again, a smile lifting his lips over his fangs. The breaths from between those fangs were heavy and long, caressing his face with the meaty scent of iron. He found his head pulled forward, but this time it was into a kiss. There was a rough touch of facial hair around pressing lips before a long, pointed tongue slid into his mouth, playing around his own. He could feel those fangs catching against his own tongue and his lips, just the sharp tips of them, and his hand faltered for a moment as he was lost to these new sensations, a kiss like nothing he'd ever experienced before. It was frightening, and.. exhilarating.

The vampire bucked his armoured hips into him roughly, and he remembered what his hand was supposed to be doing. He continued to tug and stroke, quicker this time, exhaling wetly as the other man broke the kiss to lean his forehead against his shoulder and growl, gripping his back and head with needle pricks of nails. He could feel the vibrations from that growl through his chest, the sound sending that thrill of mostly-fear through him again.

He felt dizzy, all he could focus on was the creature he was pressed against and the cock in his hand, which in his mind's eye was overlapping with his own. A hot haze of red, in his nose and in his mind, blurring his vision as his hand jerked back and forth with the wet slick noise of his own spit. The vampire bucked into him and huffed into his shoulder. Once. Twice. Then a few moments later he stiffened and leaned his head back with a deep, shuddering exhale.

His hand kept going, as he was lost to his own rhythm, but after a moment the vampire laughed breathlessly and reached down to hold his arm still.

"Stop! Stop, pup. We have no time for more."

Blinking, he came out of his daze, staring at the vampire's laughing face still so close to his while that vicarious pleasure still swirled through him. He shook his head and stepped back smartly, letting go of the penis with a sticky sensation. He looked at his hand; the palm was utterly red as though painted, and a thin splatter of dark red now ran down the muddy hem of his blue coat and top of one leg of his breeches. He shuddered heavily as he wiped his hand on his side. He knew he should feel disgusted with himself and the bloody mess, and in part he truly did, but the animal part of him simply resented the vampires words, resented being stopped from his own pleasure. The logical part of him, however, was deeply relieved. He had not been bitten. Yet. He was still alive.

The vampire pulled himself up from his leaning position with a long grunt, as though strangely fatigued. He began to pull his trousers up and buckle his belt. As he did so he sighed deeply and glared up at the sky with irritation. He looked up as well, and noticed the first few rays of gold lancing through the pink clouds of the east, lighting the tops of distant trees. He looked sharply at the vampire. He didn't... _seem_ to be burning. But the low daylight did make him seem somehow... less. The red madness haze was still perceptible but faint and quiescent, like a candle flame at noon.

"Come." purred the vampire, stepping forward. "They will have dug my bed by now. You will stay with me."

 _Dug?_ But there was no chance to question. He found himself swept up once again, pressed to the other man's side.

Again they walked together, but this time was different. Instead of guiding with an inexorable iron grip, the vampire seemed to wander and lean. When their steps didn't align he wasn't immediately corrected, instead the vampire found his way forward in tandem with him, like any tired man leaning against a companion. The cloak also did not enfold him as it did before, just swept the ground behind. Was it the sun? Was it the sex? Impossible to say, but while the vampire still certainly had strength within him it seemed to be turning dormant, like a hammer resting atop an anvil instead of wielded by a guiding fist.

The vampire did not lead him far before the tents thinned and opened out into an area of grass. He recognised the place; they were at the rear of the fortification. A line of trees beyond it cloaked the bend of the river that ran through the low valley they had defended, where the fortification nestled. On the field of grass, which was just starting to catch the early light, two soldiers stood next to some planks. They watched warily but didn't get out of the way when the vampire approached, instead one strode forward to meet him. He had a shovel leaning against his shoulder as if it were a musket, and there was a large pile of fresh earth nearby.

The soldier tugged his cap. "All finished and ready for you, Mr. Warbird sir!" he said, with a slightly tight cheerfulness. The other soldier just watched uneasily, shifting from one foot to the other.

The vampire let his arm drop and broke his leaning connection, waving dismissively as he trudged past the soldier without breaking stride.

"Don't call me sir."

The soldier spluttered, did a sort of awkward half salute and backed away, his companion following suit.

"Right you are s- Mr. Warbird, ah! Hope you have a good night, erm, day Mr. Warbird!"

He gave an unreadable glance at the enemy soldier in tow with the vampire, before the both of them headed off towards the tents.

He took a moment to examine the area more closely as the red soldiers left. The wooden planks on the ground were laid next to each other in a row, and stained blankets had been thrown over them and weighted at the edges with small piles of earth, which had also scattered all across the blankets. It took him a second to notice in the low light, but one blanket hung down over the side of the planks, into some kind of hole. The vampire ahead of him dropped down suddenly a step, and with a chill he understood what he was looking at. The boards were covering the top of a long hole in the ground, a rectangular, familiar kind of pit. There were steep muddy steps cut into the head of this pit, and the blanket hung between this "stairway" and the mouth of the hole like a curtained door.

He drew an intake of breath. "...That's a grave." he said, shakily.

The vampire turned and looked back, beckoning for him to follow.

"Of course. Where else would the dead sleep?"

\-----

Oloroc watched curiously as the frail blue soldier stepped forward with such hesitation. Perhaps a lifetime ago, in another world, he had once feared the symbols of death himself, but now the grave meant only comfort. Always strange and alluring, these quickly beating hearts of the living. So easily brought to motion.

He stepped backwards down the final spade-cut lip of soil that formed the crude stairs to his bed, then swung the blanket aside as he turned and stooped to enter. It wasn't dug quite deep enough to fully stand without hitting the boards, and the enclosed space and smell of wet soil around him immediately struck him with the heavy need to sleep. The sun weakness crawled through his body, an almost physical force pulling him to lie down and take rest, but he resisted, turning to see if the boy followed instead.

Muddied boots, gaiters, and the hem of a blood-stained coat came into view, and the soldier's pale face peered through the blanket curtain cautiously.

Oloroc swept his cloak under himself and sat down heavily on the thin sackcloth that had been thrown over the dirt floor, beckoning again.

"Come. Rest with me."

Step by step the soldier crept forward into the damp hole. His fearful breathing was the only sound in the underground stillness, and he patted and felt the crumbling walls as he went.

Oloroc, realising that the human couldn't see where he was going, grabbed his collar and pulled him down on top of him as he lay back. The blue soldier stumbled and resisted for a moment, but it seemed once he figured out what had happened he quieted, leaning still on Oloroc's chest with fitful breathing. Oloroc swept his arm around him and held him tight, pulling the cloak over them both. He could feel the living warmth seeping through his clothes, the life and blood pressed against him warm and comforting.

He felt the dead sleep of day claiming him, and with closed eyes he absently stroked the warm hair near his face for a few moments, until his undead nature overcame him and he went entirely still.


	2. The First Day

He wouldn't have thought it possible that he could sleep, clutched to the bosom of a monster in the cold pit of a grave, but sleep he did. The exhaustion of that day of death overtook him, smothering him into rest as his depleted body and mind forced the issue.

He awoke shivering, thirst scratching at his throat. For a few minutes he lay there, as memory filled in and the scraps of horrible but blessedly un-remembered dreams faded. He assessed his surroundings quietly. He was still in the pit, but during his sleep he had slid off the vampire's chest and was now lying next to him, their bodies pressed together by the narrow walls of the dirt pit. He could feel the weight of the other man's forearm resting loosely on one of his shoulders. His nose was filled with the smell of damp earth, and with the cloak having rolled off him at some point there was no warmth to be had anywhere.

Dim light filtered through the gap beneath the curtain at their feet, enough to see by. He moved his head up, cautiously, slowly. Of the red aura, there was no trace. The vampire was lying flat on his back, lips parted slightly and eyes closed. His long black hair was wreathed around his pale features and he looked quite dead. Not a single feather of his cloak fluttered near his mouth.

For the sake of survival, he might have stayed put, but his thirst was overwhelming and he realised he also needed to relieve himself. He didn't know what would happen if he tried to step out of this hole and into the occupied camp, but he had to do _something._

Carefully, he reached up next to his face and began to slowly shift the heavy hand off his shoulder. The vampire's calloused fingers and half-glove were pliable, but as cold as the dirt around them. He gently placed the hand down by his side and slowly sat up. Muscles strained with soreness and cold, protesting at his cautious pace enough to make him wince and tremble. His left shoulder in particular felt dull and pained.

Once he was up, he sat and hugged his torso, rubbing his sore arms for warmth and blowing quietly on his freezing fingers. His toes felt frigid as well as he wiggled them in his boots, and he hoped his socks weren't wet. He looked at the blanket hanging over the entrance and the light coming from beneath. A peek couldn't hurt? Surely?

The underground silence was broken abruptly. He jumped in surprise as from behind came a grunt. The vampire lifted his cold dead hand and patted his tensed back. The prone figure didn't open his eyes.

"Go." The deep voice slurred. "Take care of yourself. Be here when night falls."

The vampire let his arm drop to his chest with a thud, and was totally still again.

He let his heart slow its startled beat as he breathed once more and waited to see if he would say anything else. The dead man was silent. He waited a little longer, but the vampire didn't stir.

Cautiously, he levered himself up onto his numb feet and shuffled forward in a crouch, eyes not leaving the sleeping vampire until he swiped the blanket curtain aside and stumbled outside.

The sun was covered by a gossamer veil of thin cloud, but still pierced his eyes painfully for a second as they adjusted. He held his arm up against the light and squinted to see the sun's position. Looked to be just past midday, perhaps early afternoon. The bright light, the tops of the nearby trees, and the surrounding green grass at eye level felt like a rebirth, like he'd truly emerged from beyond the grave into a world of sunshine and life.

But it wasn't his world, not any more. As he looked over to the line of tents a red-coated soldier, who had been sitting on a box eating an apple, got to his feet. Instinctively, he ducked down, but he heard a loud red empire-accented voice call over:

"Oi, you!"

He peeked up over the lip of the mud stairs again. The soldier took a few steps forward, then stopped to take another bite of his apple. He had a sabre on his hip and his hand was idly gripping it, but he hadn't drawn it. He looked familiar, and after a moment he placed him as one of the two soldiers who had been stationed at the grave before, the uneasy one who hadn't spoken. A young man of medium build, with rather nondescript brown hair around a solid face with a small moustache. His features would have been quite dashing if they weren't twisted into a sour expression, though perhaps that was just reserved for looking at him.

The soldier had an air of both disappointment and contempt as he chewed his apple. As he looked at this red soldier, the sight of the apple made his hunger awaken, and his stomach shifted restlessly. They wouldn't kill him now, would they? As far as he could discern, most of the red army feared the vampire, and the vampire wanted him back by nightfall. Without a weapon he wouldn't stand much chance against this enemy soldier, but perhaps he could bluff his way out.

"What?" he said flatly, putting a foot up onto the first muddy step and glowering with his best attempt at menace.

"I'm supposed to give you food and such if you're alive, you little hole rat. Unless you don't want it?"

His bravado withered at this. Yes, that was exactly what he wanted. He cautiously heaved himself up the steep cut stairs, looking a lot meeker but still feeling rebellious. Some small part of him wondered at himself. He had once been both afraid and dismissive of the red army. They had been storybook enemies in the distance, shooting their projectiles, the great faceless Them. But now-- since encountering a true monster, perhaps-- they seemed... smaller. Instead of a sinister force to be slain, they were just irritating and everyday people, who shared with him a mutual hatred of the most ordinary kind.

Blue and red approached each other, the red soldier drawing his sword and letting it dangle at his side pointedly, while the blue soldier shuffled forward in his muddied clothes.

"You look like shit." said the red soldier, and laughed derisively. He turned away and went to the box, opening it and taking out some supplies and dumping them on the grass.

He looked down at himself. He really did look like something dragged from the gutter. A thin layer of dried mud covered his entire front side, turning the faded blue of his tightly buttoned coat and the grey of his trousers a mucky light brown. He realised with a shock, however, that there were no bloodstains whatsoever. All the places the vampire had touched him, all those seeping spreads of blood from an unseen source; there was no stain nor sign of them. What did this mean? Where had the blood gone, had it ever been there?? The only trace was a crusted mark down one leg, which was no longer red but a much more familliar pale yellowish colour that gave him a brief surge of disgust. He rubbed his arms and stamped in confusion and cold, trying not to think about it.

"I need to go to the latrines, through the camp." he said.

The other soldier turned around and tsked, as though he had asked something truly inconvenient and selfish. He pointed down at the emptied contents of the box with his sabre.

"What am I, your royal escort? Piss in a bush."

The bundles he pointed at seemed to be mostly clothes. Fresh, un-muddied clothes that weren't full of damp or blood or unspeakable effluence of the battlefield. He felt a wave of relief flood through him. There was also a water canteen and a canvas bag that had the hopeful lumpiness of provisions.

He knelt down shakily to gather them up, eager and totally disregarding the soldier standing next to him. His hand was mid-reach for the canvas bag when he froze. A cold edge of steel had tapped against the side of his neck. He travelled his eyes slowly up the blade to see the red soldier looking down with a smirk of satisfaction, the tip of his sabre at his throat.

"Be funny wouldn't it? If you survived that fanged bastard and then it's me what kills you."

The moment drew out, for what felt like minutes. Blue kneeling and frozen in motion, red looking down at him with the sword to his throat. Their eyes bored into each other, reading each other's faces as the tension spiked in the quiet spring air.

".....But... you won't....." he finally said, very cautiously, feeling the blade bite against his skin as he spoke. "....Because he wants me back by nightfall."

The red soldier tsked again loudly, scrunching up his nose and curling his lip. The sword stayed for a few moments as their gazes locked, then he let it swing away. He breathed out shakily as the red soldier stepped back, but a second later grunted in pain as the soldier jabbed the heel of his his boot into his ribs. He nearly fell to his side but caught himself, crawling upright again with a huff. The other soldier sneered and sheathed his sword as though the blue soldier wasn't worth his time, and went and sat back down on the box.

After rubbing his smarting ribs a moment, he went back to bundling up the clothes and other items while the soldier watched, arms folded and legs spread wide. That kick had certainly not been as hard as it could have been. Seemed like evoking the vampire could indeed strike a fear in them, if needed. 

He hugged the clean clothes to his chest, the extra layers of fabric already warming him through his thin coat, and thought about his muddy hair and the increasingly warm twinge of his bandaged arm. He headed back towards the vampire's grave, but continued past it towards the line of trees. He heard the soldier call out behind him.

"Hey! Where are you going?!"

"To piss in a bush!" he retorted over his shoulder, and stomped towards the river.

Partially true, but also, he'd remembered that the washing area was only a short distance away. He hoped dearly that he wouldn't encounter any more red soldiers there, but they were freshly conquering his camp and he had a feeling finding a good place for laundry was low priority on the first day of occupation.

He pushed his way past the branches that hung low around the river. The well-worn trail of packed earth and smoothed roots he followed had been pressed into the ground by human feet long before the fort had been erected around it. It lead to a natural flat area of pale gravel that the river's bend had deposited over time. A few large boulders poked out of the rounded stones here and there, and some wooden buckets were strewn about. He felt a shadow of grief as he saw some blue soldier's forgotten shirt still hanging from a branch. A soldier who would now never return to collect it.

He thumped his rear down onto one of the large stones close to the river, and hugged the clothes he was carrying. The shadow of grief turned into a torrent; not just one of mourning but an upwelling of simple emotional tumult that forced its way out suddenly and violently. He pressed his face into the soft cloth with a hoarse sob as tears burst unbidden to his eyes. Crying was foolish, it was not helpful, he knew. But still he wept, unable to stop.

Time passed; he raised his head and pulled in a shaky breath. He wiped his eyes with his muddy sleeve and sniffed his nose heavily to clear it. He had things he needed to do, he didn't have the luxury for this.

Standing, he placed the clothes on the rock and went over to the underbrush to relieve the pressing business of his bladder. Once he'd finished, he simply left his belt hanging open and went over to undress, taking a few strong gulps of water from the canteen as he looked over the clothes. Whoever had selected them had given him neither a fresh blue uniform, nor a uniform of the red army: An unbleached linen shirt, some plain drawers of the same, a short dark green coat, trousers of a nondescript ugly brown, and, most blessed of all, some woollen socks. He pulled off his boots-- fearing the worst from his feet but they were still dry, just battered and freezing-- and gratefully switched his threadbare cotton socks for the woollen ones. Taking off his trousers and undergarments made the air fully hit his chilled skin, and he began to shiver in earnest, slipping on the new clothes as fast as he could. He hadn't realised how damp his clothes had been until the dry softness of the fresh ones embraced his skin instead.

When it came to taking off his coat, he suddenly winced in pain as he slipped out of the sleeve. It had pressed against his left shoulder, and now that he looked there was a remaining bloodstain on the coat after all: dried spots of his own blood where the vampire had grabbed him. He took it off more cautiously. There was another thin stain all down the back, which he assumed must be from the poor dead soldier who had unwittingly hidden him on the battlefield. He tossed it aside, and lifted his shirt collar slowly to peer at his upper arm. The handkerchief he had tied around the small wounds had shifted aside and now only covered two of them, the others were sticking to the linen of his shirt. Gritting his teeth, he undid all the buttons and pulled it away gradually. Pain lit up as the cloth unstuck, igniting a hot pounding ache in his arm. He got the shirt off and tossed that aside as well. It stank of his own sweat and fear. One of the fingernail-sized wounds began bleeding again, and rolled a bead of blood slowly down to his elbow. He wiped it off in a smear and rinsed his hand in the shallow water near his feet.

He wasn't really sure what to do about these wounds; they didn't seem all that serious and the blue army camp surgeon was undoubtedly in a ditch by now. He untied the handkerchief with his fingers and teeth, wincing as it jostled the final two wounds, and rinsed it thoroughly in the river. He used the wet cloth to dab away the crusted blood and fluid on his arm, then tore off a strip from his old shirt that seemed reasonably clean and tied it around his injury. It would have to do.

The cool air on his exposed chest and the icy bite of the water had brought his teeth to chattering, but he took a moment to wash his hands and underarms. Splashing water on his face made him gasp, but he managed it twice and even got some over his hair. He pulled the shirt and coat on hurriedly, numb fingers barely able to close the buttons. He took his belt, powder pouch, and gaiters from his previous outfit, though they were all still covered in flakes of damp mud. His cap had long been lost, somewhere out in the battlefield on that night of horror.

He sat on the rock and felt a little warmer and a lot cleaner, but still thought wistfully of his greatcoat. It was somewhere behind him, in a camp now full of enemy soldiers. Some red-coated ass was probably already stationed in his cot, going through his things. He swiped up the canvas bag of provisions. Inside were two apples and about half a loaf of bread. Looked to be food for the entire day, and he had an irritated suspicion there had originally been three apples.

He tore a chunk off the bread and bit into it, alternating with bites of apple. As he ate, he moodily combed mud from his wetted hair with his fingers and looked out across the river, at the winding valley and forest just visible through the trees on the opposite bank.

He supposed it was his duty to escape, to reach his superiors in some other encampment, for the sake of the blue empire. He could swim across the river, it wasn't very wide or fast, and be beyond the edge of the fortification before that nasty-faced soldier could come to check on him. But although it seemed an easy plan that might well work, nothing in his heart stirred for it. There had been no concern for his escape from either the guard nor the vampire himself. He was not in irons, he was allowed to wander free, but somehow he felt as securely captured as if chained to a post in the centre of camp. He had a few hours before sundown but what then? How far could he go, what could he do? Lay his bets on a chance encounter with a horse that could take him farther? Hide in the forest and hope that no enemy patrol nor the luminous eyes of the vampire would find him? He found his heart had already accepted defeat, and the logic of his mind struggled to prove otherwise.

Once again, his options were reduced to conquering each moment as they came. _Earn your life._ He might not have much of that left. Once the sun set, and the vampire awoke, there seemed a strong likelihood he would never see it rise again. A dark determination filled his mind. ...If he made himself as useful as possible to the vampire, made himself worthwhile to keep around, perhaps he could, as the vampire had said, live a little longer.

Unbidden, his mind turned to that final moment against the cart; pressing his body into the beast's embrace, the plain lewdness of pumping his saliva-slicked cock between them. He remembered the feel of sharp fangs in that bearded kiss and the steely grip on the back of his head, the vicarious pleasure sweeping his body... He blinked and shook his head, biting roughly into the chunk of bread to banish those memories. He'd let himself get swept up into whatever blood-soaked magics had hovered over the beast at that time. He wouldn't let it happen again now that he knew what to expect.

He stowed the remainder of the food back in the bag and tied it to his belt, and slung the leather strap of the canteen over his healthy shoulder. He left his stained blue uniform lying as it fell on the river stones, and headed back through the trees. He nearly ran into the sour moustached face of the approaching guard, who reached for his sabre hilt reflexively and then stopped and narrowed his eyes.

"Took your time didn't you, blue bastard."

He hung his head but glared in return and walked back towards the open space with the pile of dirt and the boarded hole. The red guard followed and pushed past him roughly to saunter back to his post. He winced and re-adjusted his sleeve over his bad arm. What was he to do now? He eyed the covered pit. He didn't much feel like crawling back in there with its corpse-like occupant and waiting the day away. He approached the rim of the steep hole and stared at the blanket curtain hanging below. Under those unassuming stained pieces of cloth and shoddy wooden planks slept a monster. A beast that devoured armies. It was absurd to imagine, if one didn't know better.

Many minutes passed, which he spent wandering around kicking at grass tufts. There was a short tree standing alone near the pit, maybe a fruit tree of some kind, and he picked up a twig or two from the ground and slowly broke them into smaller and smaller pieces.

Eventually his boredom and restlessness overwhelmed him, and he turned an idle question towards the only source of conversation.

"Excuse me... is there anything else in that box?" he called over to the guard.

The red soldier squinted at him slyly from his seat atop the wooden chest.

"...perhaps." came the unexpected reply.

Had this ass not emptied the entire box? Come to think of it, it was odd that he'd bothered to throw the contents out onto the ground, though he hadn't thought anything of it at the time. He narrowed his eyes in weary distaste of this man. Red army soldiers must be specially selected for their poor personalities. He walked over.

"If there is, I think I'm supposed to have it."

"Are you now? And what do _I_ get if you do?" the guard jerked his head at him.

He patted his belt and his completely new pockets. There was a twist of powder and shot still in his powder pouch, but aside from that there was nothing on him.

"I don't have anything... why would I have anything? I'm a prisoner."

The other soldier scowled. He got to his feet, and opened the chest.

"Fine. Then you owe me, and don't you forget it."

He reached in and an object was flung at the blue soldiers chest. He reflexively grabbed it. It was a book, with a worn grey cloth-bound cover that had no title. The soldier snapped the box shut before he could see if there was anything else inside.

"Hope you can read." the soldier smirked, and sat back down.

For once, he was surprised to find himself grateful that he could. He'd never had much interest in reading before and had loathed the years of school he'd been forced through, but at least now he had something to pass the time with.

He went over to the little tree and sat himself down on a raised root. The thin book turned out to be called "Simple Principles of The House: The Roof and Its Understructures" and bore the seal of a blue empire printer. Obviously something scavenged from the camp's original contents, though he couldn't imagine what soldier could have found house roofing a gripping enough subject to take with him into battle.

Time ticked by, as he sat with his back against the tree. The book proved to be exactly as boring as it sounded but he found himself clinging to every page; the normality of the author's voice talking about the transport of slate via wagon and barge, or the different techniques for layering insulating materials, was balm against the uncertain madness of his surroundings.

After an hour or two he grew bored again and attempted to venture further into the camp. He was stopped by the sneering guard and his sword, so instead defeatedly went to the river again; to refill his canteen and make a second attempt to wash his hair without freezing his head.

When he returned, the guard had changed. The second guard from the previous night now stood by the box, keeping a wary eye on him. The soldier gave him a suspicious but acknowledging nod as he sat back down to read some more, which he didn't return. Of the two, this one was both much taller and much wider, with wispy light brown hair that curled out from under his cap. His young face was soft but sturdy, with plush lips, and his crossbelt strained a little over his broad chest and stomach. Instead of a sabre he was armed with a bayonetted musket, which was looped over one shoulder.

After some time he found that he was reading the same paragraph over and over without gleaning a single piece of sense from it, so he lowered the book with a sigh. Looking to the sky, the sun was getting lower but sunset wouldn't come for another hour at least. A knot of anticipation and fear suddenly balled itself up inside of him, and to take his mind off it he called over to the guard again:

"Hey, is there anything still in that box?" it was likely both guards were conspiring to skim things from their worthless prisoner, but you never knew.

The soldier blinked in surprise with comical exaggeration, then turned to lift open the lid and peek inside. He tilted his head, getting a good look in all corners, then closed it gently.

"No, I can't say there is. Should there be?"

It was a surprisingly honest-sounding response in a surprisingly soft voice, but he got to his feet and walked over regardless, carrying the book. He was tired of this little game.

"No... but if you don't mind, may I look anyway?"

The tall red soldier gave a polite smile but a flicker of suspicion furrowed his brows at the odd request. Nevertheless, he stepped back from the box with a flamboyant gesture of invitation that almost covered the other hand grasping the stock of his musket and sliding it halfway off his shoulder.

"There's nothing occupying it but dust and straw, but by all means!"

And indeed it was quite empty. He felt tired as he closed the lid again. He wasn't even sure what he'd hoped to find. This foolishness felt so petty, especially on what might be his last day alive.

He turned to find the red soldier looking at him with a brightly nervous smile but also a cautious pity behind his eyes.

"Sorry, that's all there is. I haven't seen anything else, did you need something in particular? We're hardly a hotel, obviously! But even for a prisoner I could probably get a spare blanket. Dulsic gave you some food already, didn't he?"

"If you mean the other guard, then yes." he sighed, and turned away.

He heard the guard's strained cheerfulness calling behind behind him as he walked back to the tree.

"Yes that's the rascal! If you think of anything, just say the word!"

The next hour passed torturously. Time seemed to move both unbearably slow and far too fast. He ate the remainder of his food and tried to distract himself with the book, but he kept looking up to see where the sun was, or glancing over at the silent pit. Every time he did his heart jumped a little. The closer the sun drew to the horizon the faster his breath came, until he had to get up and stride around the tree, arms folded, and force himself to breathe calmly. He knew what he was going to do, his conviction to extend his life hadn't changed, but a fear filled him now and wouldn't abate.


	3. The First Night

Eventually, evening began to paint the sky in soft pinks and purples as the sun peeked beneath the low cloud cover. The tents were outlined in blinding gold light that cast long chilly shadows across the clearing. ...Should he return now? He remembered how dark it had been when he'd entered the covered pit the first time. Perhaps it was better to enter while he could still see, instead of waiting until he might stumble over his sleeping captor within.

He stopped his pacing and went to the river one last time out of nerves, making use of the bushes again. Who knew when he might have another chance. Returning, he held his hands over his face for a moment, steeling himself.

He took a deep breath, then headed over to the pit. The tall guard's gaze followed him, but no words were exchanged.

He stepped down the muddy steps slowly; one, then the other, peering intently to see if he could glimpse any movement from inside. The dark crack at the bottom of the curtain was still. His hand hesitated a moment as he went to grasp the cloth, then slowly drew it aside. The blank darkness beyond made his heart jump with animal fear, but after a moment he found he could see the vampire's steel-capped boots and the ragged hem of his cloak lying on the ground just inside. They were not moving. He tried not to tremble as he sidled in, giving the dark shape on the floor a wide berth.

Behind him, the curtain slipped from his fingers and swung closed, snatching the light away. He stood hunched in the darkness, frozen and listening to nothing but his own breath and the faint pounding of his heartbeat in his ears.

After a few moments, he could gradually see more. The indistinct pale face of the vampire and his dark beard were visible, as were his fingers resting on the large white X of the two crossbelts over his chest. He crouched down slowly and stayed there a moment, wondering what to do. He supposed he should lie down again, as he'd been when he was last there. Awkwardly, he shuffled around until he could sit, and then cautiously lowered himself down next to the dark shape to his left.

Eyes wide in the low light, he listened to his own breathing, powerfully aware of the figure next to him. He could see the barely visible cracks between the planks above him as he lay there; the sunset through the blankets on top was dimly glowing in thin brown lines. He could tell they were getting fainter. Any moment now the beast at his side could wake. Did the sun have to be fully down? Or did the vampire just have to be covered by the long shadows of sunset? He tried to still his rapid breaths, as fear crawled through him. The earthen pit was still cold even after the long day, and he shivered.

Time passed, and at some point his strained alertness must have drifted into almost a daze because without warning the next thing he knew was a heaviness swinging over him, pressing his body in all places with its weight. He grabbed upward in a panic, and his hands met cloth and leather and metal clasps in the darkness. A laugh rolled close to his face and he felt long hair brush his cheeks. He froze.

"My good soldier." he heard the vampire's deep voice say.

His presence didn't feel quite the same as last night; there was no mindless terror or drunk dizziness from the red haze, but the vampire was now lying on top of him. The larger man's weight felt impossible to throw off. Damp, faintly coppery breath brushed his face, but he couldn't see a thing. The sun had gone down fully, leaving the world to the black of night. He slowly relaxed his startled grip on the vampire's clothing, heart beating fast in the darkness.

The vampire shifted over, still leaning against his body but no longer crushing down on top of him. He felt his hand run down his side, then slip under his coat and grip the shirt beneath, pulling it out of his belt. The vampire apparently had no intention to delay this time. The hand slid under the shirt and over his bare stomach, stroking up. He could feel the cool roughness of the gloved palm and the equally cool fingers running across his skin, making his stomach flinch. He shivered. He could feel a slight bulge pressed against his thigh, along with the hard jabs of sword hilt and armour against his hips.

He tried to steady his breathing as he recalled his prior convictions. Was he really going to sell himself? His soul, perhaps? He had to. Reaching up, he started to slowly unbutton his coat, feeling a clutch of embarrassment bring warmth to his face. He didn't know if the vampire could see him in the dark, but maybe he felt what he was doing because the roving hand on his stomach stopped and seemed to be waiting. He struggled for a moment with the double row of buttons- different from the single row of his own uniform- then pulled the coat open and started on his shirt. He wished he could see the vampire's face. Was it surprised? Eager? Angry? His stillness was unnerving.

He'd only got four buttons down when there was a forward movement of the other man's body. He inhaled sharply as a tongue suddenly pressed against the bare chest he'd exposed between his hands. He froze. The vampire leaned into him and licked up his chest, over his collarbone, up his throat, then to the side of his neck. The cooling wet was like a line drawn in the dark, one that ended as the vampire buried his face against him. He tensed as bearded lips brushed the exposed flesh of his throat, tilting his face up, but there came only a kiss below his chin. A kiss with the faintest scrape of ivory points. There was a low rumbling groan as the other man ground slowly against his hip.

Breathing quickened, he falteringly resumed unbuttoning. The vampire drew away a little and he felt him begin undoing the buttons from the other end with the hand that had been under his shirt. Their hands met in the middle as he undid the final button, and he found one gripped and pulled upwards. He flinched and pulled away for a second, as wetness played unexpectedly across his fingers in the dark. The vampire's mouth? He could feel that long pointed tongue curling through his fingers, lips brushing and playing against them, and the hardness of teeth behind. A fragment of curiosity flashed through him, wondering what those sharp teeth would feel like if one were to reach in and touch, but he ignored it.

The vampire released his hand, and the sense of his closeness retreated; his weight shifting away and the jingling of belt and scrape of legs indicating he was shifting position. He felt a tug on his gaiters, as they were pulled off in the dark. He lay flat on his back, chest exposed to the cool air, and tried to catch his breath for a moment. He felt more isolated, more alone than he'd ever felt. Even the occupied camp outside the walls of the earthen pit seemed a distant and unreal notion, everything had narrowed to just him and the sensations of the other creature in this dark hole. He could feel his boots being removed, hear them being tossed behind with thuds.

Anticipating the next step in this process but trying hard not to think on what it could entail, he reached down and began to unbutton the front of his trousers. The vampire stopped, one hand still holding up one of his legs under the knee, but he was otherwise invisible and unreadable again. Waiting. Watching? He fumbled with his own buttons, feeling himself go red again in the darkness. He was almost certain now that the vampire could see him just fine. He felt the need to say something, to explain himself and his actions, but instead of such pointless words he just silently pulled down his trousers and the soft linen drawers beneath. Cool air hit his ass and hips, and then a moment later his cock and balls as he pushed his clothes further down his legs. All he could hear was his own laboured breathing. He felt shameful and exposed, but there was also a strange sense of liberation, of completing what he'd set out to do. No going back now.

He lifted his free leg to pull his trousers further down but there was a rustle of leather in the darkness and he found the clothes pulled from his hands, tugged by their crotch over his knees and further down his legs. But the vampire didn't pull them over his thick socks, instead he left them looped around his ankles and ducked under them between his knees, pushing his legs apart. He found his feet fettered by his own trousers behind the vampire's back as the other man leaned over. Body met body again, groin against groin pressing cloth and leather against his stomach and the base of his exposed penis. Hanging hair brushed his face as he couldn't help but close his eyes and let out a whimper at the discomfort and sudden acute feeling of helplessness.

"Beautiful..." came the heavy voice close to his face, and a cold hand stroked his cheek.

He opened his eyes again to the darkness and a jolt ran through him. He could see the vampire after all; in the dark near his face, two hooded orange rings glowed faintly like the last embers of a fire. The vampire's eyes were actually giving off light. It was a sudden poignant reminder that the creature on top of him wasn't a man, but something else. Something unnatural, more like a beast than a human being. His heart jumped faster and his breathing quickened as the vampire held his hand still against his cheek. And, to his shame, a strange quickening ran between his legs as well, a flush of a different kind.

The vampire leaned away and he heard him work to undo his own clothes. He closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing and his body. _Is it the fear? Is it the murder?_ That mocking purr came unbidden to his memory again. No, not this time. Absolutely not. He willed himself back under control, taking advantage of the moment's respite to take a deep breath and try to think of anything other than that luminous gaze that still echoed in his mind, painted onto the dark. He started as there was whisper of steel then a sudden jangle and thud by his side. He automatically turned to look, but there was nothing to see. He felt something curved and hard against his arm, and the burn of cold metal. ...The swords?

His time to wonder was short: There came a spitting sound in the darkness, and then the vampire leaned down again to kiss his naked stomach. The tickle of beard hair made him twitch involuntarily. He could feel the vampire's arm pressing against his raised thigh, moving something between his legs, and then a slick point of pressure began to push and feel between his ass cheeks. Automatically, his legs clamped around the vampire's cloaked body, and he squeezed his eyes shut. The guiding hand found its place and the vampire shifted and began pushing his hips forward. He could feel the cock head against his asshole, demanding entry slowly but with increasing pressure. It began to hurt and his body pulled away instinctively but the vampire's other arm gripped his thigh and held him in place. He balled one hand into a fist and covered his mouth with the other so as to not make a sound, but a fraction of a whine escaped through his nose.

"Look at me, soldier." came the vampire's voice, an edge of command echoing to it.

He obeyed without thinking, opening his eyes. Luminous and bright orange, the vampire's eyes hovered near in the darkness. Dying embers no more, they cast faint light on his cheekbones and brows and the bridge of his nose. It was not possible to look anywhere else.

_"Yield."_

The heavy voice was soft but reverberated through his ears and his entire body. Those owl eyes seemed to fill his entire vision and he found the tension in his body immediately release. He breathed out and there was a moment of relaxation, of _relief_ from all that pressure and pain. Then the pain explosively returned as he felt the vampire's penis push _into him_ in an abrupt movement. He broke that burning eye contact and cried out, in a mix of surprise and pain. He felt himself stretched, and he could feel the intrusion making his ass clench around it. But the vampire put both hands by his chest and leaned further forward, slowly pushing himself deeper. He was vaguely aware of a deep growl from the man, and kisses on his chest, but all he could focus on was the sensation of the cock in his ass. Surely it was already all the way in, but it kept going, and the stretching burned. A tear rolled from each eye to his ears and his legs twisted and pulled against the trousers that linked them together. But almost more overwhelming than the pain was the sensation of something _inside_ him. Part of the monster forcing its way into his body, and he could feel it, as though it were splitting him down to his core.

Finally the pushing stopped. He could hear his panting breath in the darkness and the heavy slow breath of the vampire close to his face. The hard cock lay inside him, he could feel as he clenched around it painfully. His hands had reflexively grasped the back of the vampire's cloak, and he gripped the fabric tight as another tear rolled down the side of his face. The strange intruding coldness of the vampire's cock was slowly ebbing, as it took on the heat of his body.

"Mmm, you warm me." murmured the vampire, nuzzling his collarbone.

The man of top of him drew his hips back, and there was a momentary dizzying sense of release as his straining insides seemed to win their battle, but then the vampire's cock thrust deeper into his ass again, faster this time. His body jolted at the repeat intrusion and he cried out once more, though stifled through gritted teeth. He hadn't expected it to hurt this much. All of him was focused on the sensation, he had no spare moment for his reasoned plans any more.

Crossbelts and feathered collar scraped over his bare chest as the thrust was repeated, and then became an agonisingly slow rhythm. Each time he felt the cock slide in and out of him it burned and rubbed, his sphincter still feeling stretched far beyond comfort. His breath came short and fast, sounding pathetic to his own ears in the quiet of the earthen pit. In contrast, the vampire's breathing was still slow and heavy, matching his languid thrusts. He still gripped the other man's cloak, and his legs clenched around him, though he noticed neither of those things.

The thrusting grew a little faster, a regular rocking that shifted his body a little with each deep push. His head swam, and he suddenly realised his rapid breathing was making him dizzy. Focusing again, he shakily began trying to slow his breath, drawing his thoughts back together as he gasped. Pain still teased tears from his eyes, every thrust burned, but perhaps he was growing more accustomed to it because it seemed less overwhelming than before. He slowly unclenched his hands that were bunched into the cloak's fabric and simply rested them atop the heaving back above him. A rhythmic weighty body, thrusting over him in the dark, sliding repeatedly between his ass cheeks. The vampire lifted his head and those glowing orange eyes appeared again, looking into his. He found himself staring, transfixed like a rabbit. The eyes bobbed slightly, as the vampire continued to thrust. Then he felt a touch against his mouth, a stroke of fingers across his lips. Before he could do anything but make a small noise of surprise, two fingers slid into his mouth. His shallow breath puffed out around them as the vampire played with his tongue and mouth, making his lips slick with his own saliva. He couldn't help but flick his tongue around them, instinctively testing what was in his mouth. He could taste, or perhaps just smell the bitter leather of the vampire's fingerless gloves, and the fingers themselves were rough, weathered. It felt strangely almost as much of an intrusion as the vampire's penis inside him.

He began to be steadily fucked. A faint slap cut repeatedly through the darkness as his body rocked, the feeling of being filled and poked to his innermost stinging through him with each thrust. The amber eyes were still staring into his, watching as they played with his soft mouth, and he could feel the heavy breath against his face quickening, the weight on his chest leaning closer. He winced as the vampire's nails caught against the edge of his tongue. Had they always been that sharp? He realised, as his heart pounded in his ears, that there was suddenly something different about the fingers in his mouth; they were smoother than before, harder. He only had a second to notice this before a thumb slipped in as well and he jolted his head away and gave a muffled yelp as his tongue was pinched sharply. He whimpered again as piercing pain shot through him, though the fingers retreated. The salty taste of blood flooded his mouth. He only had a second of injured confusion before bearded lips pressed against his, and he found himself kissed deeply. The long tongue snaked into his mouth, sliding around his wounded tongue, as the kiss became a mess of breath and fangs and blood and lips. He vaguely felt another wave of tears roll down his face, as the vampire played with his bleeding mouth. He felt his hair gripped and head pulled closer, as his body was rocked, the world narrowing to nothing but the kiss and the cock pounding into his ass.

There was a dizzy tremble in his lower body. He could barely tell any more which direction pain was coming from, it just felt like all of him was buzzing. The vampire broke off the kiss and stared into his eyes again, his breath blooming heavy against his face with each thrust.

"Your blood is mine." came the deep breathy voice.

Abruptly, he found himself pulled forward, lifted upright by his head and back. He gasped and panicked for a moment, reaching out to steady himself. But his hands hit dirt walls and he found himself almost sitting up, speared onto the lap of the vampire, who had leaned back. He felt something cold and metallic roll against his leg and dirt scatter over his fingers. The pounding grew faster, somehow feeling like the intruding cock was going even deeper into him, his own weight pressing him down onto it. Hands gripped his hips, guiding each tight slick squeeze up into his ass.

"Your body, is mine. Your mind, is mine. You are dead. And you are mine."

Fear surged through him. The mad, wild fear from before that could almost be rage. _You are dead_ echoed in his ears, over and over. For the first time he struggled, kicking his trouser-bound legs and flailing his arms up to push himself away from the figure he couldn't see. The vampire batted off his attempts and gripped his injured upper arm with a sting of pain. He used that hold and a firm hand on his hip to pound him faster, breathing loud in the dark, glowing eyes narrowed and drifting. Crying out in pain and mindless instinct, he grabbed for the hard metal thing by his leg. His fingers scrabbled and then closed around a guarded handle. The swords. With no thoughts left in his head, he pulled his arm back and stabbed straight into the darkness below those glowing eyes.

There was a stopping jolt through his arm, a thick resistance, and a snarling cry of pain from the vampire.

All movement ceased.

In the suddenly silent darkness his fear-addled mind cleared with shock. Had he really just... stabbed him? He was still held in place, he could feel the slick buzzing pressure of the cock speared inside his ass, but the vampire was immobile and there was no sound in the darkness other than his own thin panting.

Then the handle in his grip twitched. He heard a deep wet inhale in the darkness, and there came a horrible sound: A damp, guttural chuckle. Orange eyes lit open.

He tensed to pull away but before he could let go of the sword, the hand that had been holding his arm whipped over and snatched his, locking his fingers around the handle. The laughter continued, trailing into a single gurgling word:

"Deeper."

Slowly, he found his grip on the sword being pulled forwards. The vampire thrust up into him again, making him gasp. Appalled, confused, he tried to let go of the handle, but the vampire gripped his fingers tightly, crushing them into the metal and not letting him release it.

"Until you feel the heart."

The vampire's words had a thick wetness to them and to his horror, he felt drips of something on his thighs. Blood, spilling out unseen. He could feel the resistance in the sword as he pushed, the vampire's body holding fast against the tip of the blade, and a faint scraping vibration that could be bone. The flesh gave way minutely under the increasing pressure, and the vampire inhaled sharply as the sword sank further in. He ground into him again.

He felt as if his whole body was tingling with both revulsion and fascination, unable to take his focus off the feelings transmitted through his hand even as the vampire's cock steadily resumed the rhythm of before, sliding in and out of his ass. His legs trembled, feeling the grinding press inside him but with thoughts only for the surreal connection of that blade to the beast's chest. The vampire's strained sounds made it clear the sword caused him pain, but he seemed impossibly unharmed. Or perhaps just capable of a savage disregard for harm received.

The meat around the blade released its grip in another slipping surge. His arm moved forward as the vampire gave another snarling yelp. Cool liquid splattered over his thighs. Both of them panted in the dark as the vampire continued to thrust after a second's pause, gripping his right hip hard.

"Do you feel it, soldier?"

With faint horror, he realised he could. Transmitted through the long steel blade, a tiny vibration now pulsed in his palm. A slow tick. Like a clock. Trembling and organic but regular. His own heart pounded in his ears. He was slowly stabbing a man through the chest. Though the logical side of him knew this was no ordinary man, still the dizzying shock of it roared through him; an undefinable surge of emotion that made tears run from his eyes again.

"Deeper.." growled the vampire again. He leaned close, pushing the blade in harder as he thrust faster.

In shock, he stopped resisting the pull. The blade slid forward a great deal deeper all at once, eliciting a bestial snarl from the vampire and another splatter of unseen blood in the space between them. A space that was narrowing the deeper the sword pierced, as it did now at a steady sliding crawl as the vampire continued to fuck him, thrusts becoming more intense. As they drew closer together the vampire rested his brow on his bare chest, a faint snarl carried on each breath.

He barely noticed as his hand was released, continuing to grip the handle numbly as the vampire put his hands on his back and pulled him bodily closer. The ticking vibration was closer now, more insistent in his palm. He could smell the vampire's blood everywhere, felt its wet chill over his thighs and cock. A sudden unexpected surge of arousal washed through him, switching the buzzing inside him from a strange background feeling to something that made his legs shake, feeling every tight thrust into his ass. His breath caught and he gripped under the vampire's arm as he was rocked up and down.

Somehow, in this daze, his only thought was to complete the task he'd been given. He tensed his arm and began to push the blade deeper. The vampire groaned heavily into his chest. He pushed the blade forward until it stopped completely, and rivulets of blood began to run over his knuckles in the dark, slicking his grip. He still felt that unexpected curl of strange trembling pleasure within him: The vampire's rapid thrusts still burned with pain but the two sensations were weaving together. Without thinking, he curled his hand and twisted the blade. The curved sabre resisted more than his ability to really turn it, but the vampire snarled gutturally and a fresh spurt of blood ran over his fingers. Two great thrusts rocked him as the vampire pressed his head into his chest and his fingers into his back. He gave a barking huff and then thrust again, slow and deep. The vampire held him close for a few moments. He could feel rapid drips of blood pattering onto his bare thigh, running beneath it with a cold tickle. A final slow stroke of his penis inside him, and the vampire lifted his head with a long wet exhale.

Teeth gritted, thighs still trembling, the moment seemed to draw on far too long for him. The vampire's glowing gaze was mellow slits, looking at his face.

"My Blue... you've killed a man. How do you feel?" the vampire's low voice was accompanied by a liquid burr to his words and a small spatter of wet droplets.

He let go of the sword, an immediate and strange guilt suddenly washing through him as he felt his blood-covered hand. He found himself slowly lifted off the vampire, strong hands under his arms. The cock slid out of his ass and somehow that jolt made him convulse, making a stifled noise in the dark. Pleasure? Pain? He didn't even know any more. He thudded back down, lying on his rumpled coat and breathing hard, staring up at the dark as he felt his fettered legs lifted up over the vampire's head.

\-----

Oloroc looked down at Blue panting as he lay on his back, staring blindly up at the dark. What a surprise. What a delightful surprise. He admired the sprawled soldier a moment, taking in the view. Still kneeling, he reached up and gripped the handle protruding from the breast of his coat and began to pull his own sword from his body. The long blade took its time, he could feel it scrape against his ribs and spine on its way out. The echoes and waves of his climax from before crashed against this new and exquisite pain, making him bare his fangs and cry out raggedly as the tip loosed itself in an arcing splatter of blood. The drops landed across the soldier, who flinched, moving for the first time to draw his legs up slowly and shield his face with his arms.

He was still a moment, breathing deep as he felt the familiar tickle inside him of the wound mending itself, and then he laughed quietly. The boy was awaiting punishment for his actions. Oloroc hefted the sword up and gently bit the back of the blade near the hilt, running the entire length through his mouth with a faint sound of fangs scraping along steel, drawing his blood back where it belonged. Not yet. He would draw the young soldier's blood through his teeth the same way, but not now, not after such a fascinating display. He had fed so well the previous night; he could wait. The taste had been washed away by his own blood but the memory of the boy's bloodied mouth was like a promise, a sample of a future banquet he knew he would desire.

He looked down at Blue's pale stomach, chest, and thighs. Dark splatters covered them like ink spilled on paper. The blood on the floor of his bed would take care of itself, but this much for the boy seemed like an excessive gift. He tossed the sword aside and leaned over Blue, pulling his legs apart and running his hands over his body. The soldier resisted a moment, body tensing. Oloroc's attention was on the boy's flesh, watching as he ran his hands over the graceful angular form. His blood slithered back to his palm wherever he moved, leaving the skin unblemished where he touched.

He stroked down the stained thighs, running lightly over each. He slowed when he reached the soldier's groin, feeling Blue's small twitch as his hand brushed curiously over his cock. Warm and tense, but not completely hard, nestled in its bed of soft hair. Amused, his eyes looked up to the boy's still covered face. Why not?

He bade his cloak sweep out of the way and put a hand on the dirt floor to hold his weight as he leaned down, tongue sliding from his mouth. The boy's knees squeezed around his shoulders in surprise as Oloroc's long pointed tongue lapped across his balls, and then up his warm soft shaft. Beneath his own blood he could taste the fear in Blue's sweat, the faint sting of both arousal and dread in his scent. That savage contradiction and the tale it told were heady and indulgent. He gripped the soldier's cock with his free hand. The boy gasped and pulled his hands from his face, eyes flicking through the dark to find his own. Oloroc watched his expression curiously as he played his tongue over the flesh of his cock, curling the pointed tip across the slicked shaft and under the foreskin. Blue's body was still tense with pain, but his expression was a picture of both woeful confusion and undeniable pleasure. His bare chest between his open clothing was heaving as he breathed, still running the rush from before with no chance to rest.

Oloroc laughed to himself. He'd come. He would have no say in the matter, not with the tendencies he'd shown so far. He curled his tongue out to cushion his lower fangs and lowered his head, taking Blue's hardened cock into his mouth. The shaft was hot against his cold flesh. He could taste the blood through the soft skin and the urge to bite down surged through him, but he took pleasure in beating it back. Not yet. He began to lower his head, his hanging hair folding over the soldier's hips. He pushed the cock deep into his mouth and further, until his lips and beard kissed warm flesh and curly hair, his nose brushing against soft belly. He could feel the heartbeat against his tongue. The pulsing blood within was bright in his awareness as he salivated heavily. He heard an audible gasp from Blue, a soft cry and a pant in the dark. He felt his own loins stir again a little in response.

He began to move his taut mouth slowly up and down, inviting Blue's cock deep into his throat as his unneeded breathing ceased completely. His tongue was still out and flicked over the soldier's balls on every deep press. He could sense the reluctance and the pain in the body beneath him and the legs clamped against his sides, but he could hear muffled sounds of pleasure and when he looked up the boy had covered his face with his hands again to stifle his heavy breaths.

He was drifting, delighted with the reactions he was eliciting and focused on his motions, when he heard a voice. He paused, mid head-bob, and listened a moment. Faintly, from outside the pit, it came again:

"Ahem, Mr. Warbird?"

He pulled his head back, sloppy beaded strings of saliva bridging a connection between his fangs and Blue's erect cock for a moment, and barked over his shoulder:

"I'm busy."

Blue's hands twitched open at the sudden shout, and his shallow breathing as his grey eyes flicked from side to side in the dark showed he was listening too. The faint voice came again.

"I'm aware Mr. Warbird, my apologies. But I'm to fetch you immediately. General's orders."

Oloroc felt a deep flame of rage curl briefly within him before being snuffed out, but not before it had lifted his lip into a silent snarl. Now? Of all times? They knew him well enough to know exactly what he was doing.

He let out a sigh that was half growl and wiped the spittle off his beard. Fine. He pulled himself away from the boy and got to his feet, hunched under the low plank ceiling, and buckled his trousers. As he pulled his clothing back to order he found that one of his crossbelts was cut almost halfway though. Atop a much larger spilt in his coat and shirt. He smiled.

He stepped forward over Blue's prone body, crouching down and touching a hand to his chest, then his face. The boy's eyes stared into his own with fear and his hands went up reflexively to meet him. Oloroc reached up and took one of those hands and pressed it to his chest, the last traces of his blood returning to him.

"Wait for me here..." he whispered.

He drew away, gathering up his swords as he did, and batted the hanging blanket aside.

As he exited, he was met with the familiar sight of a tall, older soldier standing near the edge of the pit, with a dour moustache that almost entirely covered his upper lip. Sergeant-major Voulari. A face he knew well, as he usually reported directly to Lough, and therefore by extension Oloroc. He had a dry, professional stoicism in all things that was as unwavering as it was dull.

Oloroc sighed. He raised a sword in each hand, turned them, and sheathed them at his sides with a clack. He stepped up out of the pit heavily.

"And what is their bidding, this early in the night?"

As he walked towards the camp, Voulari fell into step by his side, staring straight ahead.

"Couldn't say, Mr. Warbird."

Oloroc made a disdainful snort. No doubt something trivial. But such was his existence; his Blue would still be there, waiting for him until he decided otherwise. He had time.


	4. Sickening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the rarest of beasts makes an appearance: plot.

Blue curled on his side in the cold darkness. The vampire had gone, the silence was yawning into nothingness, and all of his various agonies came clamouring to fill the space. Most demanding of all was his asshole; not only an itching burn but a deep, heavy pain like a bruise that echoed down through his thighs, making him reluctant to move his legs or hips. His tongue had stopped bleeding but it was swollen and stung painfully, still staining his mouth with the taste of blood. His shoulder throbbed where the vampire had grabbed it, and he could feel a wetness seeping out from under his haphazard bandage that was cooling as it met the air. All of these agonies created a symphony that kept him breathing hard, but somehow worst of all was the lingering pleasure that they just couldn't seem to drown out.

He pulled his coat around him in the dark and shivered. He was cold; he should pull his trousers back up too, before the underground chill got too deeply under his skin. He painfully uncurled and reached down, pulling his clothes up over his feet and his legs. His wet cock stroked his thigh as he did, and he had to stop a moment and breathe. Still hard, still ready. Still eager for that mouth, that tongue, the occasional frightening glide of smooth hard sides of fangs along its length. Why had the vampire done that? For his own pleasure? Just to see him squirm? To revel in the power he held over him? He couldn't comfortably belt his trousers back up yet so he just held his face and painfully rolled on his side again with a faint moan. Why was he thinking these thoughts? He couldn't get them out of his mind. Instead of fading, the maelstrom of pain and arousal only seemed to be increasing the longer the vampire left him alone.

His thoughts slid, with an ease that shocked him, to the way he would usually deal with troublesome arousal. How long had the vampire been gone? Five minutes, perhaps? It would take about that long to get to the flag officer's meeting tent, if that was where he was headed. And at least as long again to get back. It would be enough time. He bit his knuckle and stared into the dark as his face felt hot and his pulse pounded in his ears. It was absurd. Here!? But, unbidden, his memory turned once more to the sensation of that mouth around his cock, taking it far deeper than he'd been able to when he'd tried the previous night. He found himself wishing he could have seen it on him, between his legs; with that long tongue and its wet, serpentine motions... He made a faint noise and curled tighter as a twitch of pleasure coursed through him, the motion making the pain in his asshole flare up as well.

He couldn't...  
But he couldn't _not_. On his side, Blue fumbled down between his thighs and gripped his hard cock. At first he just rubbed gently but the long-denied pleasure blooming from his own touch soon had him slapping his hand feverishly in and out. The hot shaft was still slick, the vampire's drool sliding over the skin beneath his fingers with every pump. Nobody would know, not here under the ground, in the dirt. Nobody knew or cared what he did here, where only dead men slept. His breathing became ragged as crude pleasure raced through his cock, the familiar rhythmic sound of motion and wet flesh in his ears. His legs bunched together painfully as his back arched. His hand didn't feel the same as the vampire's mouth but it flashed him back to the side of the cart again; all that bloody-handed fucking. Those amber eyes looking into his. Their deep animal ferocity. The weakness that clouded them when they were struck with pleasure. Just like when he'd had his cock in Blue's ass. That memory made his asshole clench painfully, and it felt almost like the vampire's cock was stabbing into him again. He panted through clenched teeth, gave a weak cry, and pleasure jolted through him as he came. It wove itself over and through agony as his hips pushed forwards, head straining against the sacking on the floor as he spurted and gasped.

He lay there on his side in the dark and panted. A final tear rolled from one half-closed eye to his nose, then dripped to the floor. As the echoes of pleasure slowly bloomed through him, almost masking his aches, Blue had the strange feeling as if he might usually feel shame in this moment, but was simply too tired for it. There had just been too much, too many things at once; the world he'd known until now had fallen behind him. What did such things matter any more?

After he'd got his breath back, he had enough presence of mind to gently feel around for the disgusting touch of his cold cum on the pit's edge and push some loose soil over it, before pulling his clothes together and curling up as tight as he could. That would have to do. He didn't care to do more. The cold air surrounded him, and he hunched into his collar and stuffed his hands into his coat. 

He'd resolved to wait for the vampire's return, but almost immediately he surrendered to the sweet oblivion of sleep.

\-----

He awoke to a movement of weight pressing onto him again, a closeness of cloth and leather.

Again this, again everything. Instinctive panic and muddled memories flooded him as he felt himself grabbed, flailing out to catch himself. But a moment later, as the rush jolted him awake, he realised that he was not on his back, but on his front, and the weight pressing down on his body was his own.

Instinctive panic subsided as he figured out what had just happened. While asleep, he'd been pulled over face-down on top of the vampire's chest again, presumably as the vampire had lain down. He heard a heavy sigh and looked up to see the vampire's bearded jawline above him, his prone face illuminated very faintly by a thin blue light from outside. He froze. Had he really slept the whole night? And had the vampire really only just now returned?

With a grumbling noise, a heavy arm flopped over his back. Blue felt a lighter weight a second later as the cloak came with it and covered his body. He shivered, noticing for the first time how cold he was.

The vampire was still. The dead man wasn't exactly a source of warmth himself, but Blue could feel a welcome difference between him and the cold floor, and being surrounded by the thick insulating cloth of the cloak was slowly allowing his body to warm up. He was wide awake now, and he stared up at the vampire's face. Was he already asleep? Gently, experimentally, Blue tried pushing himself away. For a moment nothing happened, then the arm around him tensed and he was pulled back close. The vampire didn't open his eyes.

For a few minutes Blue just lay there, watching the vampire's inert face as his waking thoughts gathered and all his aches and pains gradually resurfaced as well. In the dim light something caught his attention: An oddly bright streak in the dark feathers of the vampire's collar. Oddly bright, and oddly angular. Curious, he slowly moved his free hand up. As it drew closer to the vampire's face his heart beat fast with a strange instinctual fear that he'd somehow awaken and snap at his fingers, but that didn't happen. He cautiously plucked out the bright fragment and held it closer to his face, but it was the texture he felt in his fingers that gave it away more than anything else. A piece of straw?

He glanced up and his breath caught as he saw that the vampire's eyes were open; darkly glittering slits looking down at him. They flicked to the piece of straw and the vampire's free hand slowly lifted and took it from his unresisting fingers. He grunted heavily as he examined it.

"A little passenger.. There will surely be more." Blue could feel the low voice vibrating through the chest under him.

The only time Blue could recall getting covered in straw was when setting up tents, unpacking supplies, or mucking the stables. Surely they wouldn't have given the vampire orders like _that_ , that seemed absurd. The pit was quiet, and the silence was hard to break, but the vampire's torpid movements made him a little less intimidating than usual and curiosity spurred his courage.

"Why? What did they have you doing?"

The vampire looked down at him curiously. His lids were heavy and his eyes were dark, almost brown in the low light.

"Search and reconnaissance. All night abroad in the valley, searching for your kinsmen they believe I failed to slaughter."

He felt a chill run through him. His comrades. The soldiers he had shared bread and marched with for three months, as they trained and moaned about orders and folded their uniforms. The sickening battlefield swam in his mind again. The memory of the stench of that muddy field tightened his chest and quickened his breath. They were all dead. Surely, they were all dead.

"Did you... find them?" he asked, in a thin voice.

The vampire rolled his eyes slightly and closed them. He rested his head again, flicking the straw aside.

"No. There are none to find. Nothing but sleeping farmers and rotting mills."

He felt a confusing wave of relief wash over him. Why did that reassure him? Perhaps he was just glad that none of them had to face the vampire a second time after escaping. Or perhaps, in some twisted way, he was glad for his own sake. None of them were left to know of the things he had done. None left to accuse him and make his betrayal real.

The vampire sighed softly and pulled him tighter, running a hand over his hair.

"Only one of the legion walked from that field, and he is here."

The caress was soft, gentle against his scalp. Blue pressed his face into the vampire's red-uniformed chest and tried not to move, as his heart pounded in his ears. There was such a disorienting contrast between the strange tenderness from the vampire in this moment and what he knew him to be capable of. Memories welled up: The snarl and the eyes in the darkness, the violent painful fucking, the perverse pleasure the vampire had seemed to take in being impaled with his own sword. Blending into that; the dizzy red haze of that night of slaughter and panic, the screaming terror of the battlefield and the blurred flashes he'd seen of tooth and blade ending the lives of soldier after soldier, the monster crouched afterwards atop his heap of bodies.

Minutes passed. Blue felt his racing mind eventually grow hazy, drifting in and out of a doze as the cloak made him feel much warmer. At some point the brightness filtering in from outside and the distant clanging of a hammer shook him back to wakefulness. The vampire's arm had slid off him, and the bearded figure was once again set with the unnatural stillness of death, smooth pale eyelids closed under dark brows.

He pulled away slowly; the vampire didn't react, and so he sat up with a wince. His asshole still burned and ached, but his tongue seemed to have mostly recovered. It stung when he ran it along the roof of his mouth, but the taste of blood was gone. His shoulder though, felt throbbing and sore. He pressed it gently and winced. The skin around the bandage felt warm. He'd have to give it a thorough examination in better light. Could it be septic? He felt a chill run through him. Surely not, those wounds were tiny. If it was, he would have to deal with it himself somehow; he doubted a red army surgeon would have any interest in providing her services to a blue army soldier.

He cautiously pulled on his boots and gaiters, glancing at the vampire, but his companion remained immobile. He got stiffly to his feet, hunched beneath the low ceiling, and looked down at him for a moment. The vampire's red cloak was spread open where Blue had rolled out of it, and his long hair wreathed around his head like a dark sun. But he was still, and calm, in the dim light under the earth. There was almost a strange sombre holiness to him, like the sleeping effigy of a saint. But if a saint, then a deeply corrupted one; a saint of death and blood and pain. He wondered for a moment if there actually were any saints for the darker things in the world like that. Some secret holy dead with their worship forbidden by the High Church, just for the acknowledgement of human-like beasts such as this.

He pulled himself from his reverie and stepped painfully out through the curtain, shielding his eyes against the low light. The sun had only just risen and a chorus of birds sang from the trees with careless cheer. He blinked as his eyes adjusted and looked over the lip of yellowing grass to the line of tents. There was a red guard posted there he didn't recognise; with a beaky nose, an unshaven face, and a very crumpled cap. He was sat slumped to the side on some crates with his musket in the crook of his folded arms, head drooped and clearly either about to doze off or already asleep.

Blue stepped quietly out of the pit with his eyes on the guard, but the sleepy figure didn't move. He headed over to the little tree, where yesterday he'd hung his canteen and wedged his book in the fork of a branch. He took a drink of cold, leathery-tasting water and ran a hand down his face, feeling the faint scratch of a few stubble patches. A second morning... How many did he have left? He glanced at the sleeping guard. Now would be the perfect time to escape, wouldn't it? ... _Could_ he escape? The vampire had mentioned farmers, perhaps they could help him once he got deeper into the valley. He took another sip of water and winced as his shoulder gave a twinge. Well, first things first.

He painfully slung the canteen over his arm and jammed the book into one of the shallow pockets of his green coat. As he did so he was suddenly struck that, once again, there was no blood on him. He quickly looked at his right hand, the hand that blood had poured over as he'd driven the sword into the vampire's chest. Nothing. Come to think of it, he hadn't felt any blood on himself when he'd lain there and pleasured himself either... He felt the abrupt recall of that moment warm his face with embarrassment. What had he been thinking? No, he couldn't fool himself, he knew exactly what he'd been thinking in those heated seconds. He closed his eyes as guilt and regret brought a grimace to his face and he held his forehead and sighed. It seemed incomprehensible to him now, that thoughts of the vampire would flash though his mind at a moment like that. Hopefully the lack of shame that arousal carried had simply given him a brief twisted whim, some manipulated desire born from exhaustion and pain. One that wouldn't happen again. He pulled his coat tighter and headed towards the river, trying to turn his thoughts to some kind of escape plan.

He was startled from his fruitless pondering as he saw someone coming towards him: a pair of women, wearing civilian clothes as he was, carrying tall baskets of white cloth. He and the women mutually veered out of each other's ways, the pair giving him a curious but not particularly hostile glance as they headed back towards the camp. Blue had a sinking feeling as he watched them go. Auxiliaries of the red army, no doubt, having finally arrived after the troops. Hopefully there weren't more of them at the river...

His hopes faded as he approached the washing area and heard voices. Peering through the branches, he could see a cluster of women in green and brown dresses, washing clothes on a board propped up in the water. A pair of soldiers half out of uniform chatted and laughed as they poured buckets over their hair and, distantly across the river, other soldiers appeared to be erecting the beginnings of a new line of fortification that faced the valley beyond. Heart sinking, he backed silently away from the trees and headed towards camp. He had a strong feeling trying to wash and tend his wounds at the same place red army soldiers were enjoying a moment of free time wouldn't go very well. Perhaps he could find another spot on the river? Or perhaps they would just let him have a bucket of water?

Back at the clearing, he leaned against the little fruit tree and considered his options. It was a cold morning, perhaps a wash wasn't the best idea anyway. Should he just tend his wounds out here in the open? His eyes caught a movement and he looked over to see that the sleeping guard was now awake and standing next to another red uniformed figure. He recognised the thin moustache and sour face; the obnoxious guard he had encountered upon waking yesterday. Dulsic, the portly guard had called him. The red soldiers exchanged a few words and the sleepy guard slouched away into the camp. A shift change.

Blue narrowed his eyes as he saw Dulsic was carrying another small canvas bag. Not this again. He had finished the bread and apple he'd been given yesterday before he'd gone into the pit, and though his tired and stiff body hadn't fully awoken to it yet he could tell he'd be hungry very soon. Hopefully the sour-faced guard wouldn't put him though the same petty bullying to get it as he had last time.

He walked over warily, cold hands squeezed under his armpits. The guard looked up and smirked, tossing his head in his direction.

"Didn't run off while old Tolly was asleep 'ey? Whatever he's doing to you down there, I guess you love it."

Blue felt his face get a little hot. All that pain and fear in the darkness. The sense of being utterly captured, of losing who you were. This soldier had never experienced anything like that.

"You have no idea what you're talking about. Just give me the stuff."

The red solder swung the bag idly from the back of two fingers, the other hand on the hilt of his sheathed sabre.

"You still owe me for the last one, what are you planning to do for this one?"

Biting down the tired aggravation within him, Blue held up his cold hands and tried to be more polite.

"I know we're enemies, but I don't want any trouble. I just want some food and then I'll get out of your sight. I'm a captive, I don't _have_ anything to give you anymore, your side has all my effects already."

Dulsic smirked. He looked Blue up and down slowly and scratched at the rounded pommel of his sabre with his fingernail.

"You can share some of whatever you're giving him down there, I think. Muddy little hole rat like you, bet you've always been good at giving that, haven't you? Or taking it more like, heheheh."

With an incredulous pause, Blue processed what the soldier had just said. He felt kind of blank, but a strange sickly tingle started in his arms and legs. He looked at the bag the soldier was holding, at his smirking contempt-filled face, and then at the sword in his belt. Somehow It really didn't seem that frightening. Moving strangely automatically, he glanced down at the ground for a moment and then bent to pick up a muddy pebble. It was small but rough-edged, and felt good in his hand as he straightened.

"No." he said, simply.

As soon as he picked up the pebble, the enemy soldier stepped back a pace, dropped the bag and pulled out his sabre, levelling it at Blue's face. His expression curled instantly into a sneer, eyes narrowing.

"Put that down, rat. You think you're the first of that fanged bastard's blue boys to have a go? Just _try_ it. I'll slice you up so bad, not even _he'll_ want you any more."

Blue stared at the sabre pointed in his direction. It was strange; he definitely felt wary of the blade, and he could feel his heart starting to pound in his ears, but it just wasn't the same as any of the terror he'd experienced over the last two nights. It was just a big sharp piece of metal, with an annoying bully behind it.

The thought of doing... the kinds of things he'd been doing with the vampire with this human soldier had been immediately unacceptable. The vampire was a shadowy beast with talons clasped inescapably around his entire existence. This man, this Dulsic, was nothing but a soldier in the army he'd been trained to fight. Just a man, like him. And he'd had enough of him. Even as the coldly logical part of him acknowledged how stupid the action was, he pulled back his arm and flung the stone as hard as he could at the red soldier's face.

The soldier's reflexes were decent: He ducked, and his free arm and the blade of his sabre instantly went up. But they weren't quite enough to deflect the projectile completely: The sharp-edged pebble struck his raised forearm with a glancing _thwack!_ and then immediately ricocheted off and clipped his forehead, making him shout in pain and anger.

Blue started running. He didn't go for the bag- it wasn't about that any more- but slipped past Dulsic while he was still reeling from the blow. But the red soldier was fast to recover: He whirled around, and Blue had to fling himself forwards to avoid the flash of his curved blade. He rolled to his feet as the dirt at his heels split with a heavy thunk of steel, bits of grass and mud flying. Dulsic gave a grunt of rage and Blue heard another metallic swish behind him. He felt a small sharp tug on his coat. He stumbled, suddenly tipping, disoriented and pitching forward, half bouncing off unexpected walls, knocking his limbs and head. His dizzy vision cleared and he realised what had happened; he'd fallen into the muddy pit. He scrambled upright and leaped through the hanging curtain, bolting into the darkness beyond.

He pulled his legs inside in a scramble, pressing himself against the dirt wall of the narrow space as he panted. He glanced fearfully into the black depths, trying to see the figure of the sleeping vampire as the curtain swung wildly, making the light fluctuate. Had he awoken? Was he moving? But there was no sound other than his own harsh breaths, and the vampire seemed to be immobile from what he could see in the swinging light.

He heard Dulsic outside give a frustrated cry of rage, and he could hear him stomping back and forth. A shower of grit spattered against the curtain as he kicked some part of the pit's edge.

"I'll get you! You're nothing! You're worth nothing but mud! He'll tear you up like all the others and I'll be the one who buries you!"

He gave another cry of rage, and then his voice quietened and Blue could hear him loudly stomp away.

He breathed out heavily and leaned his head back against the dirt wall of the pit, chest still heaving. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest and he felt hot and dizzy. What a stupid thing to do, what was he trying to prove? Now he had no food and he was trapped in the pit until whenever Dulsic's shift ended.

The pit. Why had he run here? Of all the places he could have fled: The river with its cloaking trees, the camp with its labyrinth of tents... Why had his cold panic pointed him towards the frightening dark of the monster's lair? He ran his fingers through his hair as he got his breath back and the wild buzz of frenetic energy in his body settled. It actually made sense when he thought about it: The pit was the one place that bastard soldier wasn't going to follow him, he felt sure of that somehow. If he'd run anywhere else, Dulsic might have kept chasing him for longer, and Blue wasn't sure his battered body could outrun anything right now. Or the red soldier might have called for his fellows to take action, saying he was escaping. Blue might have ended up with a sword in his back or a shot through his head.

But... He glanced at the motionless shape of the vampire's face in the dim light. ...There had been no reasoned thought to his actions or his course. No logic, no plan. He had run down here on instinct alone. What that said about the state of his mind, he wasn't sure. He didn't particularly want to dwell on it, either.

Time passed, which he spent mostly sitting curled into a ball, watching the vampire warily for any movement and trying to ignore the various pains in his body. Eventually he grew too uncomfortable and cautiously went to lie down beside the vampire again, heart pounding as memories and associations from last night came rushing back. He was curled up on his side again, so as not to bump the vampire's crooked elbow, and he could smell the thick smell of the old sackcloth and the dirt floor beneath it next to his face. Of the blood that had spilled everywhere in the darkness, there was no trace. Had that been real? Surely it had been; he'd felt everything, every strangely cool gout and drip as though the vampire were bleeding sticky water that merely smelled of blood. Dead blood. He kept his eyes on the vampire's side and shivered. It was hard to turn his thoughts away from that.

The shiver was not only from those haunting memories; he was actually quite cold again. It was tempting to take up the edge of the vampire's cloak and crawl under it, but he didn't dare. He pulled his coat tighter. As he did, he felt a loose strip of cloth. He pulled it around to the front. Part of the back hem of his coat had been neatly sliced away into a ribbon of cloth that was still attached at one end. The red soldier's sword had caught him closer than he'd thought. He felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature as he wound it around his fingers and snapped it off. That could have easily been his skin.

More time passed, and he found himself drifting from cold, to strangely warm yet still shivering. After a while, when his impatience began urging him too badly, he went and sat back near the curtain, listening to see if he could hear when the guards changed shift. At one point he nearly jumped out of his skin when something small thunked wetly into the curtain next to him, but it bounced to a stop at the pit's entrance and in the gap beneath he saw what it was; a muddy apple core. He felt anger and disgust boil up inside him, but he just hugged himself tighter and continued to wait.

Eventually he began to find himself gripped with sleepiness, and- still leaning against the dirt wall of the pit- he started to doze in the dim light of the underground.

His dreams were insubstantial at first; just flickers of relived events that his half-asleep mind barely touched, twitching him into momentary wakefulness each time. Eventually though, he slid into a different place, one further back in time: A long low room of dark stained wood and pale plaster. Heavy beams supported the ceiling, and the room was full of pockmarked desks and benches, all facing forward. Boards with letters and grammar and times tables and a huge blue empire seal decorated the walls. It was a familiar place; his old classroom. His sister was at the front of the class, reciting something clever while the teacher nodded her head and watched fondly. Everybody else in class was looking at him strangely and he realised he was standing up on his chair, so he sat back down, embarrassed. He started carving a stick lizard into the desk with the back of his pen. After a few moments, he started to realise there was something behind him. He hadn't seen it yet, but it was something frightening. He was growing more and more afraid. Terror gripped him, taking his breath. He couldn't turn around to look, or it would _get_ him. But he had to look. He wanted to know what the danger was, to see-

The tension of the dream was abruptly broken by an earthy thud, and Blue snapped awake in a panic, sitting up. Boots, visible in the gap under the curtain. He jumped to his feet, instantly alert, and crouch-walked hurriedly away from the curtain. Dulsic. The guard had overcome his fear after all. Blue retreated as far back as he could, stepping over the vampire's arm as he went, and pressed himself into the far recess of the grave-like pit.

A hand gripped the curtain and pulled it aside, and in a flood of light a red soldier peered in. But it wasn't Dulsic. It wasn't even one of the other guards that he'd seen posted at the pit. A totally unfamiliar face was looking in at his cowering form: Narrower, older, and with a moustache that almost entirely covered his upper lip. His expression was dour and neutral, and he didn't step further into the pit.

"Good day. If you would accompany me, please."

There was no hostility in his voice, just polite calm. Still, Blue was deeply suspicious. Was this some kind of retribution for his foolish stone throwing? Was this soldier here to drag him out in front of a firing squad?

"...Why?" he asked. He took a moment to glance down at the sleeping vampire next to him. The bright light and commotion didn't seem to have stirred him; he was lying just as still and as peaceful and as dead-looking as ever.

"General Lough would like to speak with you. I'm to inform you that this is a compulsory meeting, and should you refuse to accompany me I am authorised to convey you by appropriate means."

This was said in such a genteel manner that it took Blue a second to register that it had been a threat. The soldier wore a sabre with a well polished basket and scabbard, with a small tassel hanging from the pommel. If this red didn't fear the darkness and the vampire, Blue had nothing more he could defend himself with for the moment. He didn't seem to have any choice. He carefully crept from the back of the pit, wary eyes fixed on the red-uniformed figure.

With his attention focused forward, he didn't pay attention as he stepped over the vampire's arm. The edge of his foot caught on the inside of the vampire's elbow and immediately the arm came to life and snatched his leg. He yelped in shock and caught his balance against the pit's walls, loose earth scattering, and looked back, already knowing what he'd see: pale half-gloved fingers gripped his calf. The vampire's dark eyes were open, and his head turned to look up at him. A flash of fear ran through Blue, and he froze.

But the vampire's brow furrowed. He looked a little confused for a moment, glancing towards the open curtain, then a sleepy smile slipped across his face. Amused points of fangs gleamed in the dim light and Blue found his leg released. The vampire drew his hand back to his chest and turned away, eyes closing as he did so, and in seconds his face went slack and the pall of death fell over him once more.

Blue stood awkwardly askew in the pit as his heart raced, watching the unmoving vampire. Just a momentary awakening? It didn't seem that he'd been grabbed with any intent other than basic reflex. Sunlight, shouting voices... none of those things had awoken him, but that brief nudge had? He looked up at the other soldier: The red-uniformed man hadn't moved an inch, and his moustached expression was still perfectly bland, unsurprised and waiting for him to emerge.

Blue obliged, though fear pricked at him. He found that he was sweating, despite the cool spring air. The soldier backed carefully away as they both stepped out of the pit, always keeping him roughly a sword's length apart.

It looked to be about midday. The sun was shining brightly and Blue shielded his eyes as he looked around. Of Dulsic there was no sign, nor of any other guard. Perhaps his escort had dismissed them, or perhaps Dulsic had chosen to abandon his post entirely out of frustration. The noon sun gleamed off the red soldier's shiny buttons and sabre, and he had a white tuft on the side of his cap. Some kind of warrant officer, Blue guessed.

"Follow me, please."

With a clipped hand gesture, the red soldier indicated they should walk side-by-side. Blue warily obliged, following as they headed towards the tents.

\-----

It took a few minutes to walk through camp, and it was a strange journey. It was the first time Blue had walked through the encampment during the day since his capture, and the once-familiar area was now alien, full of foreign uniforms. Flashes of the red empire seal passed by on supplies stacked over those with the blue empire seal, and there were many more horses around than he was used to. The journey filled him with unease, but thanks to his civilian clothing and the officer by his side nobody gave him a second glance, and he thankfully encountered no faces that might have recognised him.

Their destination turned out not to be the tent the vampire had first brought him to, but instead a slightly smaller one tucked away near the barracks. A red flag hung windless but ornate on a pole beside the entrance, and there was a soldier on guard. The guard moved out of the way as they approached and Blue's escort pulled the tent opening wide and gestured for him to enter. Blue hesitated a moment, as the moustached officer's eyes stared unreadably into his own, then stepped through.

He felt dizzy a moment as he went from the bright sunlight to the darker interior, but it passed and his vision cleared. Inside was clearly a flag officer's space; luxurious, but minimal. The ground below was covered by a thick mat, over which lay a huge blue carpet that almost filled the tent completely, an enormous blue empire seal in the middle showing that this had already been an officer's tent before its current occupant. There was a large desk in the middle of the room that at first appeared luxurious thanks to the fine cloth draped over it, but the exposed areas revealed that it was constructed out of crates and planks. Many pieces of paper, leather-bound maps, and writing materials were arranged over it. A man stood behind the desk, looking up sharply as Blue entered, and Blue immediately recognised him: The white-haired flag officer- the one who had spoken with the vampire as the beast perched atop his vile mound of bodies.

Now that Blue was closer and not gripped by a haze of terror, he could see the general in more detail: He had a weary countenance but an alert blue gaze. Not the soul piercing orange of the vampire's eyes, but a natural human sharpness that swiftly looked him over before flicking back to his face. The officer's pale angular features were lined, and the thick hair that swept away from his temples was snow white; he looked to be perhaps 70; an old age to still be on the battlefield. Fine gold brocade and white piping adorned his red coat, and an ornate sabre and pistol hung from the shoulder of the chair in front of him. Behind him the rest of the tent was filled with a few chests and other, surprisingly ordinary living space items including a cot, a chair with folded clothes on it, and a number of books haphazardly stacked in piles.

Behind Blue, the moustached officer entered as well, letting the tent sweep closed. He stood to attention, saluting precisely.

"The blue army captive, the Warbird's prisoner: As requested, general."

"Yes, thank you Voulari, I know who he is."

The moustached officer nodded in acknowledgement and stepped back, standing at ease near the side of the tent and staring straight ahead. 

The general was silent a moment, standing and looking at Blue. Blue felt like he was being appraised in all his muddy detail, and instantly felt a sullen shame that made him fold his arms and return the gaze with a wary glare, ignoring his shoulder burning in protest. He'd been in the vicinity of blue army officers before, but they'd never paid him a single speck of attention. Something about this general's scrutiny made him feel acutely aware of his current state as a fallen piece on a game board. ...Why was he here? If they'd intended to execute him he wouldn't be standing in this tent, he'd be on his way to a ditch by now. Did this general also fear the vampire enough that he couldn't harm his captive? His memory of the white-haired figure standing calmly beside the beast in the field of bodies made that feel unlikely.

"Silent chap, aren't you?" remarked the general, after a moment had passed. "Understandable. I'm afraid, however, I can't allow you that luxury right now."

He drew out his chair and sat behind the desk, pulling a piece of paper in front of him and uncorking the inkwell.

"As the only surviving member of this fortification, your presence is required to answer some questions." he said, not looking up as he took out a pen and nib and began to write.

"You are an unranked conscript, correct?"

Blue stayed silent. After a few seconds, the scratching of the general's pen stopped, and his sharp eyes went up to meet Blue's.

"I trust you are aware of your current position? This is not a barbaric interrogation, nor do I have any intention of turning it into one. But the questions I'm going to ask you are crucial, as is your cooperation." he sighed, looking heavenwards a moment. "Without it, I will regrettably be forced to employ the Warbird's assistance in motivating you to answer them. I'm sure you understand."

Blue felt a cold chill run through him. He didn't know what the vampire would do to get information out of him, and he certainly didn't want to find out. With shaky reluctance, he nodded. ...He always had the option to lie, after all.

"Excellent. Now if you please; your rank?"

"I'm just an infantryman." said Blue.

The general scribbled something onto his piece of paper.

"And what was your most frequent posting?"

Blue's brow furrowed. How were these "crucial" questions? "I was just.. on the line. Or doing odd jobs around camp; digging latrines, carrying stuff..."

The general made another note. "Excellent.." without looking up, he continued: "And when was the last time you saw your commanding officer before the night of the attack?"

Blue opened his mouth to answer yet another easy question, but then he stopped. When HAD he last seen Colonel Berry? It was hard to see past the huge chaotic block of memory that was that night of terror, but he couldn't recall seeing him during that battle nor the day before it. He looked up to find the general's keen scrutiny was on him again, searching his hesitating face.

"I... don't know."

The general's eyes flicked over his face a moment longer, then he started writing again.

"I see. And the other officers in attendance? Captain Avell and Lieutenant..." he pulled out a piece of paper and peered at it. "Denscario?"

Blue shook his head; he couldn't recall when he'd last seen them, either. It was strange; he remembered being given orders by his squad leader, but during that savage night and in the days prior he couldn't recall catching sight of any of the top ranked officers. Well, presumably they were in a ditch with everyone else now, so what did it matter?

The red army general kept writing a moment longer, then placed his pen neatly along the top of the paper and folded his fingers together, leaning forward on the desk and peering at Blue.

"From your manner then, I assume it will surprise you to hear that those three men were not among the dead, and appear to have packed their belongings and departed prior to the Warbird's devastation."

Blue frowned. He didn't remember hearing about that... All three officers had left? Then who had been commanding the camp on the night of the attack? With the chaos and the madness it had hardly mattered but- Wait. Had they... Had they known? Had they known the red army and the vampire at its head were coming? And if they'd known...

"They left us?" said Blue incredulously, half to himself.

He felt a cold angry tightness in his chest and sweat broke out on his brow. That couldn't be true. This enemy general was just trying to unsettle him with nonsense, for whatever purpose. A commanding officer and two other officers in command wouldn't just leave two hundred men to die with no warning of an impending enemy attack, especially one from something as savage and merciless as the red army's pet monster. It made no sense. Either three officers somehow succumbed to base cowardice all at the same time and deserted upon hearing the intel, or... The alternative was even worse to think about: The alternative was that they had left under orders, and the slaughter of his fellows had served some tactical purpose. An unwitting sacrifice.

The general had been closely watching his expressions change. "I can see you share my concerns." he said, a grimly humourless smile crossing his thin lips.

Blue shook his head, feeling dizzy. "I don't care about your concerns... You could be making all of this up, you don't have any reason to tell me the truth."

The general sighed. He took up his pen, dipped it, and started to write again. "Indeed. Unfortunately for both of us, the facts are as I have told you, but any speculations we may share are no more than that. You are in the sad position of contemplating the unimportance of your suffering to your military superiors, and I am in the sad position of being forced to station my men on a location that may very well be a trap."

"You could just leave." muttered Blue sullenly, but his mind was still racing over this new information. It couldn't be true. Officers didn't just abandon their men to die, that went against everything the military stood for, everything they'd drilled into him when he'd joined about the blue army representing brotherhood and honour and loyalty.

"Alas." said the general, a clipped tone slipping into his voice. "It was decided that we must remain here, for the strength of the 41st's vampire to hold the valley. And where Oloroc goes, well so must I."

_Oloroc..._ The name cut through Blue's dizzy thoughts. Was it the vampire's name? He hadn't really given any thought to the idea that the bestial man might have a name other than "the Warbird"; which he'd already heard before being captured, and which all the red soldiers seemed to use as well. Oloroc. With emphasis on the first syllable the name sounded foreign, but not red empire. And it sounded old.

"Is that... his name?" he found himself asking, rubbing his arms as a shiver went through him.

The general looked up, for the first time seeming slightly caught off guard. "Ah... Yes... Officially he is referred to as "the Warbird", which is a moniker I strive to use as well, but old habits die hard, et cetera." The white-haired officer squinted curiously at him, looking him over again. Still watching Blue, he put his pen down.

"I hazard to ask such a foolish question given your current circumstances, but are you well?"

Now that the question confronted him, Blue found that he was not. He could hear his pulse in his ears and he felt both hot and cold. The general's earlier words were still swimming in his mind. That couldn't be true, could it? There was no way Colonel Berry had known of the impending attack and abandoned them without saying a word. That couldn't be true. He rubbed his forehead and found that he was sweating, and there was a faint tremble to his fingers as he did so.

The general stood up from behind the desk and walked around, approaching Blue. From behind, the moustached officer stepped forwards and Blue startled, having forgotten the other man was even there.

The general peered at his face, sharp eyes taking in his sweating brow as Blue leaned away suspiciously.

"I'm fine." he said, but the general ignored him.

"Show me your tongue, please."

Too surprised by the request to think of disobeying, Blue stuck his tongue out. Seemingly unsure about whatever it was he saw, the general squinted and said "hmm." as Blue retracted it again.

Blue wasn't sure why the red army officer had any interest at all in his wellbeing. Perhaps he wanted to ask him further questions? That might give him more chance to stay alive... It was possible the general was actually showing him the limited hospitality of an official prisoner of war, but considering they had also abandoned him to the tender mercies of the blood-drinking beast called Oloroc, that seemed hardly likely.

In truth Blue was beginning to feel a creeping dread, one that followed the expanding ache in his arm. His wounds were small, but he'd heard how badly and how quickly battle wounds could fester. Now he just wanted to leave this tent and change his bandage as quickly as possible. Bandage... it wasn't even a bandage, it was just the handkerchief he'd had in the pocket of his muddy uniform.

"Were you injured at all during the battle? Even a cut, or a significant bruise?"

"No." lied Blue, trying to keep his face unreadable. Paranoia whispered to him that showing weakness right now was dangerous. If they knew he was injured or sick, perhaps he would be of no more use to them and they'd have him shot like a lame horse.

The general's sharp eyes narrowed slightly as they fixed on his own, and Blue knew he was unconvinced. But the red army officer simply rolled his eyes heavenward and sighed a little.

"Very well. Perhaps just a fever; I'm sure the Warbird can deal with it when he awakes, if he so chooses." The general nodded to the other officer beside him. "Regardless; have someone keep an eye on him until nightfall."

The moustached officer saluted with a calm "Yes, sir."

Blue found the general was staring at him again, hands folded behind his back. The strangely awkward moment dragged on a little too long, and the general opened his mouth and inhaled as though he was going to say something else. He apparently changed his mind though, because he abruptly closed it and turned and went back to his makeshift desk.

"You can escort him back now, thank you Voulari." he sat down behind the desk and began writing again, without looking up.

The other officer nodded and turned to Blue, pulling the tent open and gesturing for him to leave.

\-----

As soon as Voulari and the boy had left the tent, Lough waited a few moments more and then set the pen down, put a hand to his brows and rubbed them with a heavy sigh. 

He'd almost asked for the blue soldier's name. What a moment of foolishness.

Whenever he came to know the names of Oloroc's pets he always regretted it terribly, because then he would remember them whether he wanted to or not. It was so much easier to have their faces blur into the morbid sea of Oloroc's regular victims; the nameless bodies that the 41st left in their wake, as every legion did. That was war. It was pitiful and grotesque, but Lough could move through it; he was a soldier after all. Oloroc's more... _personal_ attachments were another thing entirely, and tended to haunt him.

It wasn't because of Oloroc's deeds. As vicious and unsavoury as they were, his brutality was simply part of his nature, and Lough understood well the rules that governed it. No, it was Lough himself that haunted Lough; that he allowed such things to happen despite his best conscience. Sometimes he found himself wondering if he was as much a monster as Oloroc, in his own way.

It didn't help that he could immediately understand Oloroc's captivation with this particular boy, though in him it had elicited an entirely different response. There was a delicacy to him: A helpless air that contrasted with a certain unrefined cunning that gleamed from under the surface. It showed in the way he looked at things, and in his measured caution. Had he been a red empire soldier Lough felt that he would have enjoyed seeing him train, seeing him grow into a fine soldier. Lough occasionally found himself amused by the thought that he had substituted fatherhood with the lifelong command of an army legion and a bastard monster, and it was such flickers of paternal feelings that that made those thoughts strike him again.

But the boy was a blue empire soldier, and that made him both an enemy and, in the eyes of Oloroc, blood for the beast. Nothing could be done about that. It was simply part of the rules.

He sighed again and looked down at the paper. The tail end of what he'd written was just non sequitur adjectives to cover his embarrassment at the end of the brief meeting, but the rest got his thoughts firing again. 

The missing officers. As he'd suspected, the average man on the line had no idea they'd left, making it seem all the more likely that their retreat had been ordered from above. That the blue legion had known the 41st was coming was of no surprise to Lough- spies and scouts were everywhere and Oloroc never made their path inconspicuous- but the blue empire's response to it was troubling.

As the spearhead of a red empire plunge across no man's land, the 41st was now stationed at the outskirts of territory that had been controlled by the blue empire for many years. There were other legions behind them but they were strung out thin, holding the sides of the spear. The generals had gambled on the 41st's monster to take that final leap forwards to the mouth of the valley, and he had succeeded. But why... Why had they known and not retreated, or fortified their defences? The men hadn't even been ready, the alert had only sounded when Oloroc had already begun baiting the cannons to draw the soldiers out to the field. ...Lough wished he wouldn't do that: He'd seen the vampire take a cannonball before, and it wasn't a pretty sight.

If Lough had issued those orders, it would have been to make the enemy think their position hard-won by surprise attack, and to keep them in that weakened spot for a controlled engagement later. But there was uncertainty in his mind. There had been several other strange movements in the blue army lately, things that didn't make sense tactically. Either they were suddenly being uncharacteristically foolish, or they had plans in motion that Lough couldn't yet see the shape of. With rumours of the Birchwood Mage being moved away from the southern garrison and the whole business with the grey kingdom's change of power, things were more in flux than Lough liked. The usually clear lines of tactics and battle were muddied in his mind.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. With his orders from the council of generals and higher still, there was little he could do but wait and see why he and his men had been extended this poisoned invitation. It sat ill with him. The blue empire legion Oloroc had slaughtered had also been sitting ducks; sacrificed as pawns in the game of war. He'd be damned before he'd let the 41st be wiped out for the same heartless cause.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this marks the first chapter that's made of stuff written after I started posting this to AO3. Which means, unfortunately for the crazy few wonderful people who are actually following along on this ghastly ride, that the next chapter will be much, much slower to appear than previous ones have been, I'm sorry!!
> 
> I still feel terribly awkward about the whole thing but the comments leave me dizzy so thank you so, so, much to everyone who has encouraged this dastardly exploit so far.
> 
> As a bonus, here are some of the sketches I made of Oloroc immediately after waking up from the dream that spawned this story. I know it's nice sometimes to read a story and imagine the characters as you'd like to see them in your mind's eye and not be influenced by visual depictions, so I will just leave the links here and you can view or not view at your own discretion!  
> [Link 1](https://file.toyhou.se/images/13429238_COHbZcoWxGLWG8J.png)  
> [Link 2](https://file.toyhou.se/images/13429248_EeqIvpw2IhGDknR.png)


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